


The Stray

by Teland



Category: DCU (Comics), The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst & Humor, Animal Abuse, BDSM, Biting, Blood & Gore, Bondage, Catgirls & Catboys, Dirty Talk, Doggirls & Dogboys, Established Relationship, F/M, Families of Choice, First Time, Happy Ending, Knotting, LGBTQ Character of Color, M/M, Magic, Masturbation, Multi, Polyamory, Pregnant Sex, Pseudo-Incest, Rimming, Romance, Rough Oral Sex, Sex Toys, Sounding, Telepathy, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 14:58:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 17
Words: 34,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10493397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: "If you're in pain..."The cat continues to ignore him. Maybe he doesn't understand?Treville reaches with his power again —The cat flicks his tail *vehemently* and moves *away* from Treville by a couple of feet, and that —All right, that's a definite message, but — "Look, cat, I just want to *heal* you. Make your aches and pains go away so you can sleep well and feel better," Treville says, and tries to catch the cat's eye —The cat pauses in his grooming.Doesn't *look* at Treville, but pauses.Looks at the now-empty bowl of beef shreds.Looks at the bowl of water.Looks at the basket of linens.And *then* looks at him. Just a bit challengingly.Treville smiles and tries to remember — no, wait, he closes his eyes for a long moment.There. At least he *thinks* that's how cats smile.





	1. Pet adoption used to be a much more dangerous activity.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [naughtypixie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/naughtypixie/gifts).



> Disclaimers: Not mine, except for what is.
> 
> Spoilers/Timeline: Vague, AU-ized mentions of things that were revealed in S1-2, but takes place pre-series. 
> 
> Author's Note: For my beloved little girl Pixie, on the occasion of her birthday. Months ago, she asked for a story where Aramis could transform into a wee little black cat who would then be scooped up by Treville. 
> 
> I was enchanted by this bunny *immediately*. 
> 
> I just couldn't do anything with it until now. :D 
> 
> Acknowledgments: Much love and catnip tea to Pixie, Melly, Houndstar, Spice, Liz, and, of course, my Jack, for audiencing, encouragement, soft cooing noises, thrown projectiles, loud choking noises, and any number of helpful suggestions. I can't do this without you.

The Captain of the King's Musketeers is not, generally, supposed to need to go soak his head. 

The Captain of the King's Musketeers is also not supposed to drink himself into a blind *stupor* — and Treville hasn't. 

He can't, anymore. 

The All-Mother is, occasionally, strict with Her children, and Her children's safety. He *is* drunk — more drunk than he has been in *years* — but he's still horribly aware of his own thoughts. 

His own *mind*. 

His own — no. No.

The least he can do is lead Lisle through these dark, rainy streets — 

Give them *both* a nice *walk* — 

The fact that he *is* fit to ride doesn't mean that he should *risk* Lisle, and who knows — someone may just want to start a fight. 

*That* would be a lovely distraction. 

He could use a distraction.

*Badly*. 

He'd done the honourable thing — he thought — and smacked aside all of his instincts and urges to *lie* to Porthos, to his *son*, when the man had, somehow, walked right into the garrison and broken twenty years of dark enchantment just by *knowing* him — and not knowing him. 

Porthos had been looking for Jean-Armand du Peyrer de Tréville, not his father by blood-magic, but the latter is what Treville had given him, shaking inside all the while with the *terror* that Porthos would walk out the door and *disappear* again. 

He hadn't. 

Porthos was a young man who'd come up — Treville *can't* use the phrase 'been raised by' — around witches. 

He'd known *much* — for all that Treville's Amina-love hadn't been able to *tell* Porthos much before she'd died. 

It hadn't been a *smooth* transition in *every* way, but — Porthos hadn't walked out. 

Porthos had *stayed*. 

Porthos had come to him, day after day, after his training, and let Treville go to *him*, and — 

Of course Treville had asked to adopt him. 

He'd *told* Porthos he *wanted* to adopt him the first bloody *day*! But he'd asked again, later on, and there'd been... a moment. 

A moment the Treville he is *tonight* can *easily* call a warning — 

Porthos had ducked his head and blushed like a *boy* — 

And Treville had wanted to touch. Just that. Nothing specific, or specifically deviant. Just *touch*. 

("Do you think... I um... I'd like to have my commission *first*, sir.") 

And all thoughts had gone, lost to Treville rumbling with pride — 

Looking up at his honestly *magnificent* son — 

("It won't be long, son,") he'd said, and Porthos had grinned at him so *broadly* — 

So — 

It *hadn't* been long, and burning a favour with Louis to push the adoption through *quickly* — 

Well, that hadn't taken long, either. 

Louis owes him quite a few favours, especially after that business with his mother. 

And then he and his Porthos, his *boy*, lived together, and a part of Treville was more complete, more satisfied, more at *peace*, than he'd been for a *generation*. 

Meals tasted better. 

His home *felt* better. 

*Smelled* better — 

Treville *slept* better — 

This lasted for approximately eight days. 

On the eighth *night*, Treville had dreamed of Amina, dreamed of her laughing with him as they dangled the ragdoll over the infant Porthos, dreamed of her hooting and spluttering as he teased and tickled both of them — 

He'd woken up when it was still dark, still night. 

He hadn't had tears on his cheeks, for the first time in — a long time. He — 

He'd thought would *tell* Porthos about his mother, *more* about his mother. He would *share* this — 

He'd been out of his bed in moments, moving out of his suite and into Porthos's — 

Neither of them *bothered* with knocking —

But. 

He'd heard. 

Something bloody help him, he'd heard Porthos tossing himself *off*. Panting and moaning and — 

He'd heard Porthos joking about it with Athos before, of course. He was too much *interested* in his son's every move *not* to. 

He *knew* his son *did* make a lot of noise when he had one off, and. 

Now he was hearing it for himself.

Hearing him groan and — 

And *choke* on a groan — 

Cough out a harsh little '*yes*' — 

And Treville's back was to the wall next to the entryway to Porthos's bedroom — 

And Treville's nostrils were flaring — 

*Flaring* — 

He was taking in *everything* — 

Every hint of his boy's *musk* — 

His pleasure, his need, his — 

("Fuck — oh, *fuck* —") 

And he'd been hard. 

Hard and hungry and — so desperate. So — 

He'd whined, under his breath, almost *wanting* Porthos to hear — 

("Yeah — please —") 

And then Treville had moved, silently as the years had taught him. 

He'd gotten *out*, not closing the door to the suite fully shut, and all but run back to his own suite where he'd clumsily yanked open his breeches and worked himself and worked himself and *tried* to think of nothing — 

Tried so bloody *hard* to think of *nothing* as he whuffed under his breath and devoured his beautiful boy in his mind, as he'd bitten his strong shoulders, sucked his dark nipples, bit them and clawed his belly, swallowed his *cock* — 

Spread his *arse* — 

("Do you..." 

"Mm? What is it, son?"

"Fuck, this is so... right, I'm just going to say it, and *you* can say anything. *Anything*. All right?" 

"Son, whatever it is, it's *all right* —" 

"I uh. I was wondering... what you wanted me to call you. 'cause I have some ideas about that,") And Porthos had laughed nervously — but not for long. ("Fuck, I want to call you *Daddy*. Just when we're alone —")

Treville had spent himself blind. 

And this time, his cheeks were wet. 

Tonight, it's night thirteen moving into day fourteen, and Treville has been dealing with his problem by avoiding it. 

Avoiding *Porthos*. 

Avoiding — 

There's always work to do, of course. 

Louis had even saved him by calling him to the palace two days in a row. 

But there hasn't been a mission worthy of Athos and Porthos, and he is... 

He can't spend his time drinking in his office. 

He can't. 

He just doesn't know what he *can* do. 

The fact that his son has accepted the *insanity* Treville has thrown at him — 

No one could accept this. 

It's too — 

Noise, in *that* alley. 

A pitiful-sounding cry and — 

Treville is already moving, sword out and — 

And he can't see a bloody *thing* in this rain, there's no visibility, but he's not going to let that bloody *stop* him — there. 

There's a man, with the loose, idiot smile of a *habitual* drunk. His balance is off — he's kicking something. 

Another man? A child?

The cry comes again — it's a cat. 

A cat too hurt to get away or protect itself and that's just — 

Treville doesn't bother with words. He slashes the man's throat — 

Steals his lean purse to make it look like a robbery — old habits die hard — 

And then he crouches down to check on the cat while the drunk gurgles away his life on the ground. 

The cat — black, and *soaked* to the skin — looks to have *most* of its full growth, but not quite all of it, and is shivering in the cold. 

Treville reaches for it with his power — 

And the cat meows at him *imperiously*, gazing up with lambent yellow eyes. 

Treville doesn't speak cat all that well, but... "Right, then, let's get you somewhere dry," he says, picking the cat up and tucking it — no, *him*, Treville can feel that — in his cloak.

The cat shivers and burrows in, making it less of a trial to mount poor, placid Lisle, who really had stood right there through all of that. 

This counts as a distraction. 

He'll take it.


	2. First get settled, *then* give Treville shit.

Porthos is thankfully asleep when Treville gets back to their rooms in the city, but the *looks* he gets from the staff tells Treville all he needs to know about how *much* shit he's in. 

Porthos knows when he's being avoided. 

How could he *not* after Treville being all *over* him for the better part of a *year*? 

How could Treville not *notice* — no, no. 

He has a cat to take care of. 

The looks get better — if somewhat quizzical — when the staff sees that he *has* a cat, and haste is made to get bowls of chopped meat and water, soft linens in a basket, and the fire built up in Treville's rooms. 

The whole process takes less than ten minutes, and Treville feels something loosen in his chest when he sets the cat down and he makes his way on steady legs to the food. 

The drunk hadn't hurt him too badly, then. 

Though...

Treville drags a chair up close to the fire once he has his own wet things stripped off and he's down to his breeches. 

The cat is making *short* work of his beef shreds. 

Treville reaches with his power — 

The cat flicks his tail. 

Pointedly. 

Well, Treville understands that, too. He can wait. He puts his chilled feet on the hearth and watches the cat drink. 

When the cat is done with that, he looks at the basket — nice and close to the hearth, but not *too* close — then lifts his right paw and studies it. 

After a moment, the cat starts to groom his *thoroughly*-mussed black fur, but slowly and a bit... creakily. Hm. 

"You know, I could help with that." 

The cat ignores him. 

"If you're in pain..." 

The cat continues to ignore him. Maybe he doesn't understand? 

Treville reaches with his power again —

The cat flicks his tail *vehemently* and moves *away* from Treville by a couple of feet, and that — 

All right, that's a definite message, but — "Look, cat, I just want to *heal* you. Make your aches and pains go away so you can sleep well and feel better," Treville says, and tries to catch the cat's eye — 

The cat pauses in his grooming. 

Doesn't *look* at Treville, but pauses. 

Looks at the now-empty bowl of beef shreds. 

Looks at the bowl of water. 

Looks at the basket of linens.

And *then* looks at him. Just a bit challengingly. 

Treville smiles and tries to remember — no, wait, he closes his eyes for a long moment. 

There. At least he *thinks* that's how cats smile.

"It's all yours. For as long as you like. I don't think you should have more food just yet, but we can get you more after you rest." 

The cat's gaze... eases, and he relaxes, just a little. 

"Yes? All right, then. Let me heal you. *Please*." 

The cat meows. Pointedly. Which... 

"Well, I would touch you — very gently — and then ask the All-Mother for a boon. Her power would flow through me into you, taking care of what that bastard did to you." 

The cat looks at him for a long moment — and then moves closer again. 

Treville still has to take his feet off the hearth and lean over, but he *can* finally touch the cat's shoulder — 

Open himself to the All-Mother — 

Who is very happy he's making new friends — 

The cat glows every green there is for a moment — and then the glow winks out and he starts purring *loudly*. 

"*That's* better," Treville says, and grins. 

The cat purrs with his mouth open as he scent-marks the basket with his cheek glands a few dozen times. 

"Well, I suppose you *are* a good-smelling cat now that you're not in terrible pain. Have at." 

The cat flicks his tail at Treville, but doesn't seem to have his heart in it. He leaps into the basket, kneads at the linens for long moments, and *starts* to bathe himself more smoothly... but quickly falls asleep, fur still sticking up in all directions. 

Treville would dearly love to help groom the cat properly, but he knows that cats rarely appreciate that sort of attention from dogs. 

He takes himself to bed, instead.


	3. You were gone for too long, Porthos.

And forgets that he's avoiding Porthos. 

Forgets *horribly*, because he winds up sleeping in, instead of going into the garrison on what would've been a day's leave for both of them — 

And now they're eating breakfast together. 

*Together*. 

Porthos is at his right *hand*, tall and strong and perfect and — fuming. 

They're pushing the food around their plates and this — 

"So I heard you got a cat last night," Porthos says, and doesn't *look* at him. 

Treville winces. "Yes. I — I heard a cry in an alley. Some arsehole was abusing the cat —" 

Porthos looks at him, then. "You waded into a dark alley in the rain to save a cat?" Just like that, Porthos's black mood is lifting. 

"I —" 

"*And* you were drunk off your arse?" Porthos is *smiling*. 

And Treville blushes and ducks his head. "No one should have to — you know how I feel about people who hurt innocents." 

"Too right, I do. What are you naming her? Him?" 

"I — him. And I don't know. I was hoping to ask his opinion about it, when he feels more comfortable." 

Porthos opens his mouth — and snorts. "I always forget you can *do* things like that." 

Treville smiles ruefully at Porthos. "We don't talk much about... the magic." 

"No, we don't. Should we?" And Porthos *pins* him with a look. 

Treville blinks. "Son?" 

"I'm just wondering..." Porthos shakes his head. "There's *something* you're holding back from me, Daddy. I can't help wondering if it has anything to do with all the magic you and Mum could do that I just can't." 

"Son —" 

"I don't know what it is. I can't — I've *tried* to guess what it could be —" 

"It's not — son, it's nothing you have to be *concerned* about —" 

"Don't bloody *say* that. It's making you *run* from me. Making you — look. Just tell me straight, Daddy. Have I done something? Have I — have I *disappointed* you —" 

"Oh, *fuck*, son —" 

"*Tell* me —" 

And Treville is standing, pushing Porthos to his feet — 

He can't stop himself — 

He can't — 

He's backing Porthos up to a *wall* — 

He has to stop. 

He has to. 

"Daddy?" And Porthos is staring down at him, wide-eyed and so *open* to him. "Daddy, what *is* it?" 

"I can't — I *can't* —" 

"*Daddy* —" 

"Son, it's not — you did nothing *wrong*." 

"But it is *about* me? Having me here?" 

Treville snarls and *shoves* Porthos against the wall. "Don't *leave*." 

"Fuck —" 

"Never *leave* me!" 

Porthos pants and flushes — and relaxes. "Right, that. That's *clear*, Daddy. I won't go anywhere. I promise." 

Treville — breathes. "I'll always be clear with you, I'll never *lie* to you, I'll always — ah, fuck, son, just — I can't figure *out* how to talk about — this." 

Porthos frowns. "But you will? When you do?" 

*Fuck* — but. 

But. 

He can't lie to his son. "If..." 

"Daddy —" 

"*Wait*," Treville says, and grips Porthos's shoulders. "I..." He growls and shakes his head, breathing in his son's fading stress-sweat — 

His *own* — 

"I need you to know that the secret I'm keeping from you is... big." 

"I *know* that —" 

"That it's — it will *change* us —" 

"Daddy —" 

"I need you to know that I'm *not* keeping it from you for *only* selfish reasons." 

Porthos blinks. 

Frowns — 

"Stop bloody protecting me!" 

"I can't do that." 

"*Daddy* —" 

"I *can't*, son. You — you were out of my arms for too long." 

"*Look*, I can take you needing time to figure out how to say... whatever it is, but not if you're just trying to be gentle to *me*." 

And — of course he should've predicted that. Of course. He licks his lips — 

"Fuck, Daddy, *tell* me you understand that, *please*." 

"I do." 

"Then —" 

"I still need time —" 

"For you? Or for 'me'?" 

"For me, son. Just — just for me. I promise." 

Porthos frowns and nods — 

"I'm —" 

"Are you about to apologize?" 

"Yes?" 

Porthos *yanks* Treville into his arms — 

Hugs him *tight* — 

Treville shudders and clutches him back, holds him — 

*Holds* him — 

"I already know you're afraid of losing me, Daddy." 

Treville winces. "I don't want to *pressure* —" 

"You're not. Not in any way I don't *want*," Porthos says, and turns enough to kiss Treville's cheek. 

Treville clutches him *tighter* — 

"Nnh — yeah, do that, Daddy. 'cause I'm not going anywhere." 

"Son —" 

"I'm not. Going. Anywhere." 

Treville pants. 

"Is it because I didn't agree to the adoption right away? Is that... Daddy, I just wanted to give you a reason to be proud of me." 

Treville squeezes his eyes shut — no. No. "You give me — you *gave* me reasons for that every *day*, son. You still *do*." 

"I — part of me knew you would say that," Porthos says, and strokes his back. 

"Did you?" 

"Yeah," Porthos says, and shivers. "You always make yourself clear. I just needed... I needed to show the biggest, hardest man in the world *how* good I could be. Does that make sense? I wasn't holding myself back from you; I promise. I never could." 

Treville doesn't let himself pant. 

He doesn't let himself drag his tongue over Porthos's throat to his cheek to his *mouth*. 

He doesn't — 

"Daddy...?" 

"My big, sweet prince..." 

Porthos blushes, the way he always does when Treville says that. 

It didn't used to make Treville want to pin him to the floor and bite his cheeks before biting him everywhere else. 

It *didn't*. 

What Treville does do, instead of *any* of the things in his mind and heart, is cup Porthos's face and kiss his cheeks and mouth. 

"Oh — yeah?" 

"Mm?" 

"You usually *lick* me, Daddy. When we're alone, anyway." 

Fuck —

"You really are feeling — off, hey," Porthos says, and grins over Treville's shoulder. "There he is." 

And Treville turns to see the cat sitting and watching them both *closely*. 

For some reason, Treville feels as though he's been caught with his trousers down and his cock *up*, but — 

He's reached for this cat with his power and gotten nothing more than the annoyance of an animal who doesn't want to be bothered with his magic. 

Or *was* it nothing more than that? 

His entire *life* has taught him about the *myriad* dangers of not trusting his instincts, so he *stops* Porthos from going to the cat, and reaches *hard* — 

The cat *yowls*, standing and arching and fluffing out his still-*somewhat*-disarrayed fur —

I'm sorry, cat, but there's more to you than you're saying, and I can't *have* that in a house where my son is living, Treville says, and reaches *harder* — 

The cat backs up a few steps, yowling more and obviously smarting — 

Treville pulls his reach back, but not before he feels — it. 

That distinct *doubling* that lets him know that — somehow — he's in the room with another shifter. 

An *adolescent* shifter in full-animal form who *isn't* an earth-mage, but... something else. 

Something Treville *couldn't* catch right away, which means either shadow or spirit. And, considering the *severity* of the block? Spirit. 

The question is... 

No, there are a lot of questions. First and foremost is how *long* the shifter has been stuck in cat-form. 

Long enough to lose his humanity? 

A portion *of* his humanity? 

The baleful look Treville is getting from the cat now could *easily* be for the way he'd forced past his blocks... or it could be something more sinister. 

"Daddy..." 

"Just a moment, son," Treville says, dropping into a crouch and offering his hand — and his self. 

His self to *peruse*. 

The cat hisses at him, but doesn't run. 

"You're a brave young man," Treville says to the cat, "and I *am* sorry for hurting you that way. But it's impolite to say the *least* to hide yourself in the ways you did from another mage, especially when you mean to share that mage's home." 

"Mage — what — no, I'm shutting it," Porthos says, and stays behind Treville. 

The cat stays thoroughly-fluffed and baleful — though not blank. 

He'd understood *enough* of that. Treville nods. "I'm offering you myself to read. You should be able to do it easily, if you reach for me through the connection we made when I healed you..." 

The cat lashes his tail once — 

Again — 

*Again* — 

"It's all right. I promise it is. I won't hurt you anymore. Your privacy is your own. If you *want* help gaining control of your shift — *nngh* —" And Treville drops to one knee as he feels himself being *scoured* more than read — 

It's unpleasant beyond *belief* — but not actually dangerous. There are too many layers of protection on his power for that. 

Still, *Porthos* doesn't know that, and he's *gripping* at Treville's shoulders — 

Calling for him — 

"It's all right, son. The cat's... just getting a little of his own back."

"What — *why*? What did *you* do?"

"One — one moment —" 

And the cat *shoves* him back, all raw force and little finesse, before turning to groom his shoulder. 

Treville grunts — and breathes, moving back into his crouch and giving himself a little shake. 

"Are you all *right*?" 

"I am, son. I forcibly took information from the cat's mind and soul when I felt something I shouldn't from *just* a cat. He's a shifter. Young; powerful; *not* earth, but spirit — and almost certainly trapped in that form."

"Uh. So you got handsy with him and he punched you." 

Treville opens his mouth — 

Closes it — 

"Yes." 

"Right," Porthos says, and crouches himself, offering his hand to sniff. "Hey there, mate. I'm Porthos, and I'm a lot more respectful than Daddy." 

The cat looks up to study Porthos. 

Porthos immediately closes his eyes for a long moment, and then keeps them narrow even as he keeps his body-language relaxed. "Daddy says you can *tell* him your name if he asks you just the right way, but I'm guessing you don't much feel like talking to *him* right now —" 

The cat flicks his tail. 

"Yeah, exactly. But I'm here, and I promise I won't do anything you don't want me to do. Did you eat?" 

The cat's tail moves much more sinuously. 

"Yeah? Good. There's always good, hearty food in Treville's homes. And you *are* safe here. He's led a life that's made him paranoid as *all* hell, but —" 

Another tail-flick. 

"Right, we can talk about something else. Why don't you let me give you the tour?" 

The cat stares at Porthos for a long moment — and then turns and walks for the door. When he gets there, he turns back to Porthos and meows.

Porthos grins and claps Treville on the shoulder. "See you in a bit, Daddy." 

Treville watches them go and just... marvels. 

The cat's fur was already much less fluffy. 

The cat's tail was already much less of a *brush*. 

But, well, Porthos is Porthos. Either you liked him or you weren't actually a *person*.

He knew there was a person inside the cat last night. 

Now to see what *sort* of person he is.


	4. Aramis.

Treville wakes up confused, but neither depressed nor horrifically aroused, so he's calling it good — 

And then he realizes the cat is standing on his chest and staring down at him. 

Balefully. 

Treville grins. "Hello to you, too," he says, and *then* remembers — he closes his eyes for a long moment —

Opens them again and keeps them narrowed — 

*Offers* himself — 

The cat stares — 

Lashes his tail — 

Lashes his tail *more* — 

And then makes a distinctly frustrated noise. 

"Hm. You're trying to tell me something and it's not working one little bit. Let's try... did you want help with something?" 

The cat purrs and *sits* on his chest. 

"All *right*, then. Your shift?" 

The cat stops purring. 

Treville blinks. "No? You want to stay in that form? Are you *sure*?" 

The baleful look is back. 

"It's just that —" 

The cat digs in with his claws. 

"So you want help with something else? We can do that." 

The cat sits down again. 

Treville tries to figure out what it could — "Maybe... a name? *Your* name." 

The cat purrs. 

Treville grins in *relief* — and gives the long blink. "All right. Do you know your name?" 

The cat continues to purr, and even drags his sleek tail over Treville's belly. 

Treville gives another long blink. "That's wonderful, son. I was worried."

The cat chirrups, and it's an obvious question. 

"Well, sometimes when shifters get stuck in animal-form — and I *won't* force any lessons about that on you; don't worry — they start to lose the parts of themselves that were, well, human. More human." 

The cat seems to consider this for long moments, dragging his tail back and forth and back again. 

Treville waits him out.

After a time, the cat stands, presses one rough paw to Treville's mouth, and — reaches. 

It's wrenching, powerful, amateurish — but not painful. Not scouring. 

And, eventually — 

(Arrramisss. Aramis. *Aramis*!)

Oh — son — 

(ARAMIS!) 

Aramis, then. You can talk to me, we can talk about — 

But the cat — *Aramis* — pulls back, and curls *up* on Treville's chest, and sighs as if exhausted.

Treville reaches for him with his *hands* — 

Strokes him *gently*...

He knows these purrs are the sort that cats comfort themselves with, and Treville's heart hurts. 

"It's all right, Aramis. You're safe here."


	5. Aramis knows what time it is.

There's no sign of Aramis the next morning — not *any* of the places he's left his scent — and Treville is — worried. 

Hurting a little. 

Still, cats don't come to heel like dogs do, and he *is* healthy now, and — 

He could easily be prowling the neighbourhood for himself, now that it's dry and he has some of his confidence back and — 

"He'll be back, Daddy," Porthos says, eating heartily. 

"I — am being obvious." 

"Yeah, you are. It's kind of adorable. I mean, you're a *dog*." 

"That I am —" 

"Should I be looking for more companion... uh... shifters... you know what, never mind." 

Treville grunts and eats his damned food. 

And washes his damned mouth. 

And checks his damned weapons. 

And scowls at his perfect, beautiful son, who is laughing his damned arse off at him. 

Porthos laughs more. 

They head to the hostler's to pick up their horses — and Aramis is waiting for him in Lisle's stall. 

Treville blinks. 

Porthos laughs *harder* — 

"I..." 

Aramis gives him that baleful look — 

"Well," Treville says, and scoops Aramis up, tucking him in his cloak. "I guess we're *all* going in today." 

Porthos chokes — 

"If bloody Richelieu can do it, so can *I*." 

"Anything you say, sir," Porthos says. 

Aramis spends the day examining Treville's office, which is the best possible distraction from all the budget shortfalls and complete failures of his cock to listen to reason about his son, who had stopped in to share lunch with them. 

He'd been *soaked* with sweat from his training, fragrant and shining and smiling — 

Aramis had curled in Porthos's *lap* while Porthos had eaten — 

Treville... had stared at both of them.

Helplessly. 

He hadn't done very well at *talking* to *either* of them — 

And, now that Porthos is back to training...

"You know, Aramis..." 

Aramis's tail perks from where he's curled on the corner of Treville's desk. 

"I'm eventually going to have to remind Porthos that you're not an ordinary cat..." 

Tail-flick. 

"You're absolutely right. That day is not today, and that groin is the source of many, many sweet dreams." 

Aramis pauses. 

Uncurls enough to look at him. 

The question is obvious, but — 

Treville smiles ruefully. "I think you already know exactly how I feel about my son." 

Baleful look. And that — 

"You want me to talk about it anyway?" 

*Sinuous* lash of that tail. 

Treville nods and — it makes sense. "I'd want to know what the man I was living with was about, too." 

Aramis turns enough so that he's facing Treville directly. 

"Here it is — he's my son in *every* way that matters, but he's not my son by blood. His mother — my sister, friend, lover, and *mate* —" 

Aramis mews. 

Treville raises an eyebrow. "What was...?" 

Aramis lashes his tail impatiently and *meows*. 

"Maybe... you want to know more about my Amina-love? Porthos's mother? I'll tell you —" 

Another impatient meow — 

And Treville gets it. Aramis can't *possibly* know much about how shifters work. If he did know, he'd let Treville *help him shift back to human-form*. "There's a lot you don't know..." 

That was almost a *growl* — 

And Treville gestures for peace. "Let's start with the part that connects with this tale. Any child of the All-Mother can have a mate, but the human children tend to feel their mates less *intensely* than the witches and shifters and others." And Treville raises an eyebrow. 

Aramis settles in to listen, even curling a little again. 

Treville smiles and strokes him. "More: I felt my Amina-love from the beginning, but I was a weak mage and so was she —" 

Aramis meows *indignantly*. 

Treville grins — and gives Aramis the slow blink, too. "We were — eventually — augmented by Amina's guardians, so that they could *also* bind us utterly — and bind me to the child in my Amina-love's belly." 

Aramis chirrups this time — Treville's doing better at answering his questions. 

But... this question won't ever be easy. 

Another chirrup, and this one is almost gentle. 

Treville nods, and — breathes. He has to show Aramis what he's about. "Porthos's blood father — the son of the Marquis de Belgard — wouldn't put Amina aside. Amina wouldn't let me — or my dearest, eldest brother, the comte de la Fère — be persuasive. She didn't want to be indebted to any more nobles. She — 

"She loved her freedom. Always. And I always wanted to give it to her — well. No. I wanted to give her every freedom except the freedom from *me*." And Treville smiles ruefully. "We were lovers, and I... buried myself in her in every possible way. She would laugh at me. Tease me for lusting for pregnant women. Ask me what good I'd be for her once she'd given *birth*... 

"I never had the chance to show her.

"She was still healing when my brothers and I were called up for a mission..." Treville shakes his head and growls. "Her guardians only agreed to bind us so I could *protect* her and the babe. Ife — the youngest of the guardians, and the only one still living —" 

Aramis chirrups. 

"Well, on my lands outside Paris, actually. Along with some of her other family. The ones she tolerates the most. She likes her familiars *best*, really —" 

Another chirrup — 

"A shifter can't be a familiar, son. A shifter is his — or her — *own* familiar." 

Aramis looks thoughtful for that. 

Treville is grateful for the pause, for the — 

But then he isn't, because he's remembering what it had been like to stop feeling his Amina-love and the as-yet-unnamed babe — 

To stop being able to *point* to them — 

To lose everything but the *ghosts* of them in his *soul* — 

It had left *holes* in him the cold wind had blown through — 

And Treville had frozen for twenty long years. 

Aramis makes a horrified noise. He'd picked up on all of that — including the *feel* of the years. 

Damn. He — Treville shakes his head and pulls himself back, smiling ruefully. "I apologize, son. I don't spend much time around other mages — especially not spirit-mages. I'll be more careful —" 

Aramis *yowls* at him. 

"I..." Treville frowns. "Aramis —" 

Aramis stands, padding over and sitting down right on the reports Treville was reading. And lifts his paw to Treville's mouth. His claws are out, just a little. 

I'm listening, son, but be gentle to yourself — 

(Everything! Tell me!) And Aramis drops his paw and glares at him. 

Treville licks his lips — 

Tries to think of a way to *explain* to Aramis that he just doesn't want to *hurt* him with his own — 

Aramis stands again, and his tail is a *brush*, and Treville is occasionally not an idiot. 

"Right you are, son." 

Aramis continues to glare. 

And Treville shares what he knows and what he'd pieced together over the years. Belgard hiring the earth-magic-immune assassin, Amina fighting him off with Porthos in her arms, Amina running scared for Porthos's life *and* the lives of her guardians, Amina finding a death-mage her guardians never would've chosen — and being forced to bargain her life away. 

Her *past*. 

Her ability to reach for *help* — or even just say goodbye. 

Amina had been left friendless, penniless, and slowly *weakening* — weakening *faster* whenever she tried to talk about her past — and she'd disappeared into the Court of Miracles — where Treville's dog found hints and wisps of her and Porthos's scents that never, ever led anywhere. 

Aramis shivers and chirrups. 

"Porthos found *me*, son," Treville says, and scrubs a hand down over his face. "My Amina-love had told him a story, before she died, about how her closest friends — her *brothers* — were Musketeers." He smiles ruefully. "It stayed with him, even though it was the last story she told, and telling it made her die in terrible pain soon after." 

Aramis turns toward the door. 

"Yes. I want... I want to comfort him... all the time. I want to... he's had nothing *soft*. Nothing *gentle*." 

Aramis glares at *him* again — 

"I've had happiness, son. Warmth, even while I froze. My brothers did their best for me when I was falling apart, and after, too —" 

Aramis growls at him, which...

Treville laughs softly and pinches the bridge of his nose. "It's true. I was a broken-down old dog when Porthos walked into my office and — and broke the enchantment *only* he could break. I was..." Treville drops his hand and meets Aramis's eyes. "I thought hard about *lying* to him. About *only* giving him the Captain. The staid, conservative, distant —" 

Aramis smacks him. 

"My sentiments precisely, son —" 

Aramis smacks him *and* yowls — 

"And now I know *exactly* how you feel about lies and liars — please don't tear the reports —" 

Aramis settles. Bad-naturedly. 

Treville smiles. "You're a good boy, aren't you, son." 

Aramis meows at him imperiously. 

"Tell you more? All right. It was clear that he couldn't feel... all the *many* things I could feel —" 

Aramis chirrups. 

"The theory — and it's *only* a theory — is that, since Amina and I were weak mages when we were born, and only gained true power after being artificially augmented... well. The theory is that the augmentation didn't get passed down." 

Aramis settles more, but continues to stare *into* him. 

More information, then. Treville strokes Aramis's sleek fur...

Scratches a little at his plush cheek — 

Aramis scent-marks his fingers with obvious impatience. 

Treville grins. "Thank you *very* much for that, son. The *fact* that Porthos couldn't feel me, couldn't sense me, didn't *know* me — or at least know that something very strange was going on once we met... well, that was all running through my head. A part of me — a *large* part of me — thought it would be better to *take* that and give him... a normal life. Be the Captain to his soldier. Teach and guide him from a distance... as opposed to giving him everything I had *longed* to give him for *decades*." And Treville is waiting for another growl or smack — 

But he just gets a *particularly* curious chirrup. 

Treville raises an eyebrow — 

Aramis lashes his tail *impatiently* — 

And Treville — gets it. And blushes. And licks his lips. "I don't think I was in love with him then, no." 

Aramis chirrups again. 

"Yes, I — he's magnificent. You've *met* him. Granted, you haven't had much time with him, but... but." Treville growls and gives himself a shake. "I have to tell him. I *will* tell him. And then... and then, hopefully, *all* he'll do is... pull away from me," he says, and winces. 

And puts his face in his hands. 

And — breathes. 

After a long moment, Aramis mews and bats at Treville's right hand with his rough paw. 

A request, not a demand. 

"Mm." Treville drops his hands and gives Aramis the slow blink. "Sorry about that —" 

Aramis bats him again — his cheek, this time — and digs his claws in, a little. 

"No apologies? At all?" 

Aramis glares at him. 

"Or maybe you'll just tell me when it's appropriate," Treville says, and smiles helplessly. 

Aramis settles and drops his paw. 

"Right you are —" 

Aramis curls up on the reports. And starts to purr. 

"I..." 

Aramis looks pointedly at Treville's *hands* — 

"Well, I guess it is time to pet you. You're absolutely right," Treville says, and gets right down to that. "I don't know what I was thinking." 

Aramis purrs louder.


	6. Aramis is, in fact, a cat.

Treville wakes up damp. 

For a bemusing moment, he wonders if he's had his first wet dream since he was still regular *Army* — and then he realizes that he's not damp *there*. 

His *arm* is damp. 

The *sheets* are — 

And then the scents of iron and *offal* hit and Treville is up and moving and — 

And there is a very dead man in his bed. 

Not just a little dead. 

He's been gutted, for one thing — thankfully, much of his innards are elsewhere —

For another, his throat was clawed *right* open. Also, thankfully, elsewhere. 

Aramis is sitting on the other pillow, cleaning his paws with studied nonchalance. 

Aramis is — 

Wait, no. 

Treville checks to see if he *knows* the man — and, once he manipulates the slack features into something like an expression, there's a glimmer of recognition. 

He's seen him before. 

Just not in these plain — and blood-soaked — clothes. 

Treville dresses the man in various different outfits in his mind — and almost immediately has an answer. 

Red Guard.

Well, well, well. 

Richelieu's feeling *frisky*. Or — 

"Was he... trying to get in, Aramis?" 

Aramis mews contentedly and lies down, playing idly with the man's hair. 

"Did he have friends?" 

Aramis yawns and rolls over onto his back. Posing a little. 

Treville licks his lips. 

Tries to keep himself under *control* — no. 

No. He laughs. *Hard*. "Where did you put *those* bodies —" 

"OH MY FUCKING SODDING BLOODY — *FUCK*!" 

Treville sighs happily and reaches over to scratch Aramis's chin. 

Aramis purrs and rolls a bit more, effortlessly avoiding the blood — 

"You're an excellent kitty, son." 

As it happens, Porthos only had one body in his bed. 

The other three were in the hall, stacked like cordwood, intestines akimbo. 

Honestly, the sight would have brought a tear to the eye of *anyone*, but Treville is absolutely overcome. 

"Snap out of it and help me get *rid* of these bodies, Daddy!" 

"Right, right —" 

Aramis yowls. 

"No, we're not going to *eat* them — I — Daddy, talk to him!" 

Treville turns to Aramis and rubs at his moustache. "Porthos... has a tender stomach, Aramis." 

Aramis looks at Porthos *hard*. 

"It's very bloody tender when it comes to *human* meat!" 

Aramis's tail moves with ominously sinuous thoughtfulness...

"Yes, son?" 

Aramis twines between both their legs and saunters away. 

Treville laughs more. 

"Right, you — he — *augh*. What are we *doing* with these bodies? They're bloody Red Guard!"

"That they are, son," Treville says, and gives one of the stacked bodies a gentle kick. "Richelieu's already helped us out by making sure there are no identifying *anything* on our rotting friends, so..." 

"I can't believe he sent a bloody *assassination* squad. What have you been *doing* at the palaces?" 

Treville shows his teeth. "Being effective." 

Porthos snorts. "Right. *Fine*. He's just going to try harder — you need a security detail." 

"I do *not*." 

"Daddy —" 

"No!" 

"*Daddy* —" 

"That's what he *wants* me to do, son. He knows perfectly well that I do much of my best work in the shadows, still, and he knows that a security detail will *slow me down*." 

Porthos glowers at him. 

Treville smiles wryly. "Not to mention the fact that a security detail tells Paris — and the *world* — that the Captain of the King's Musketeers is *afraid*." 

Porthos *recoils*. 

"That's right, son. It would weaken me —" 

"Not as much being *killed* —" 

"I —" 

"Or being *caught* using your *witchcraft* to *keep* from being killed!" 

Treville stops. 

Licks his lips. 

Porthos is *glaring* at him — no. "You're right." 

"I bloody know I am!" 

"There are men I can trust with this..." Treville growls. 

"I know, you're a paranoid *arsehole*. But you have to do it this way until you *can* neutralize Richelieu." 

That... really is a shame. 

"What? What is it?" 

"He's been so *useful*." 

"He's a bloody *viper*." 

"No argument, son, but the Crown needs every weapon it can get —" 

"Yeah. It *does*. So you damned well *remove* the weapons that harm — or try to harm — the *other* weapons." 

Treville narrows his eyes. 

"Daddy —" 

"No, son, you've been heard. I'm just... considering my next moves." 

"Getting dressed and getting the bodies the hell out of here before we horrify your *entire* staff?" 

"We're going to have to do something to disguise the wounds, too —" 

"Oh, fuck —" 

"It's just practical —" 

"All *right* —" 

"Mm. Let's go dress," Treville says, and gives the bodies another kick. "The kitchen boys will be up in another hour, and Alaire will probably —" 

"I am here, sir," Alaire says, melting out of the shadows and lighting candles. He spares a *glance* for the bodies and stained rugs, but otherwise gives Treville an entirely impassive look. "Will you be requiring a carter, or something less... public?" 

Treville sighs happily. Convincing Alaire to 'retire' into his *direct* service is one of the best decisions Treville has ever made. "Less public. These gentlemen will *not* be identifiable when I'm done with them." 

"As you say, sir. I know just the gentlemen for the service. If you'll give me a bit of time...?" 

Treville nods. "We'll be in the alley." 

Alaire bows and departs. 

Treville checks on his boy — 

Porthos has a quirked smile on his face. 

"Yes, son?" 

"You could just let *him* arrange to get rid of Richelieu." 

"True, but he really has a *lot* of other work to do, son. I try to be fair."


	7. He needs you where he can touch you, Porthos. Always.

The men who show up for the bodies don't make eye contact with anything but the money, and no words are spoken. 

It irritates Treville not to dispose of the bodies himself, but there's mess, and time concerns, and *five* bodies, and there are limits to what he can do. 

Still, he can and does ask for a boon from the All-Mother *about* the mess — 

She asks him if he's been feeding Aramis enough — 

She reminds him that Aramis is a growing *boy* — 

He promises to make sure he gets second helpings of everything he likes, and asks very politely for Her to remove the blood. 

She asks him how things are going with Jason. 

He blushes and tells Her, honestly, that all is well, but they've both been busy. 

She tells him he works too hard, caresses him everywhere at once, *floods* him with power, and sends him on his way — after leaving them *and* his home *and* the alley frighteningly clean. 

There are little pink flowers —

"Right, well, whatever you said made Her happy," Porthos says, and crouches down to stroke a petal. 

"Mostly I agreed with what She said about feeding Aramis better and taking more breaks." 

"Did you *yes* the *All-Mother*?" 

"I..." 

Porthos stands up and smacks him — 

"Ow?" 

"About Aramis." 

"Mm?" 

"How the bloody — you said he was *stuck* in that form." 

"That he is — and, for reasons he hasn't seen fit to share —" 

"He wants to stay that way, yeah, I picked that up. But." 

Treville raises his eyebrows at Porthos. 

Porthos *looks* at him. "He's a *cat*. He weighs *maybe* eight *pounds*." 

"Yes? I — oh. You're wondering how he did for five men." 

"Bloody *yes*. He was *helpless* just the other night!" 

"He hadn't had any food or rest in warm, dry places the other night, son. Not for some *terrible* length of time. But — he's a shifter. You know this lesson." 

"I *know* shifters are always stronger — and even stronger than that in their animal-form — but... uh. Fuck. This is one of those conversations that's just going to get narrower and narrower until you finally say the word 'magic' a lot. Isn't it." 

Treville *coughs*. "Do I — do I *do* that?" 

"No, but it *feels* like you do." 

"Fuck —" 

"Don't apologize!" 

"You know, he says that, too. Never wants the kid gloves." 

"Mm? No, eh? And let's go get washed up and get some food. I'm reasonably certain I *will* be able to eat now that all the blood and brains and everything else is gone." 

"*Good* —" 

"*Very* good. Got to stay in fighting trim, here. Aramis might cart home a *big* bloke tomorrow night." 

"Oh — only if he doesn't think you're eating enough." 

"Oh, fuck, Daddy —" 

Treville laughs *meanly* — 

Porthos *smacks* him again — 

And Treville grins up at his boy — 

His beautiful and wonderful — 

So *strong* in every *way* — 

"Daddy? Is everything all right?" 

*Fuck* — Treville smiles ruefully. "Just thinking about how much I love you," Treville says, entirely honestly. 

"Oh — shit, Daddy," Porthos says, blushing and turning away — 

No. "You have to tell me when I'm too much for you —" 

"You're *not*." 

"Son —" 

"You're bloody —" And Porthos licks his lips and looks *into* him with his big, dark, beautiful eyes. "You're amazing." 

"*Son*." 

"I learn something from you — something new and strange and wild and just —" And Porthos grins wide. "It's a *privilege* to be with you, Daddy. In just — every way." 

He can't tell Porthos not to *say* that without *explaining* himself — 

*Trying* to explain himself — 

*Failing* — 

"Daddy..."

Fuck, fuck — 

They're standing in the hallway, in front of Treville's rooms — 

Porthos is leaning *in* — 

"Son —" 

"Daddy, you can tell me *anything*. I don't *care* what it is. I don't — oh, Daddy, it's not like — it's not like there's anything you can say that would make me *love* you less —" 

"*Shit*, son, don't —" 

"Don't make promises like that? Why *not*?"

"I —" 

"Have you hurt someone who didn't deserve it?" 

"*No* —" 

"Did *you* torture a cat —" 

"Bloody *no* — *son* —" 

"Have you done *anything* but try to do right for your brothers and your *sisters* and the *regiment*?" 

"I — I —" 

"*Well*?" 

"Son, I'm an *arse*." 

"I know *that*, but — fuck, Daddy, you know what I *mean*. I *know* you do." 

Treville doesn't dart in and bite Porthos's soft lips — 

He doesn't rip his shirt open and claw him and bite him and *take* — 

He doesn't — 

"And sometimes it feels like — like —" Porthos growls and bangs the heel of his hand against his forehead. 

"Don't —" 

"Fuck, it just feels like something is *pulling* on me, sometimes —"

Treville inhales sharply and reaches up to *grip* Porthos's shoulders. "Say that again." 

"What — what?" 

"Something's pulling on you? Pulling on you *where*." 

"I... *inside*, Daddy. Only... it doesn't feel like it's on any part of my *body* — or." 

Shit. "'Or', son?" 

"It feels like — sometimes it just seems like — fuck, I know this is going to sound *ridiculous* —" 

"Shh," Treville says, and squeezes Porthos's shoulders, ignoring the pound of his own heart and opening as many of his senses as he can. 

Feeling for his boy. 

"I think we both know that my tolerance for the strange is *high*, son," Treville says, and gives his son a wry smile. 

Porthos grins back — 

And Treville lets himself feel every bit of his *hunger* for Porthos, every bit of his *need* —

And Porthos grunts — 

Blinks — 

"I feel it, Daddy. I feel —" 

"You feel the pull, son?" Shit, shit, *shit* — 

"Yeah, I — I want to be closer to you." 

"Son —" 

"I mean, I *always* want to be closer to you," Porthos says, and laughs ruefully — "Fuck, how do you put up with me being all *over* you?" 

"I'd keep you by my side every minute of every *day* if I could," Treville says — growls. He can't stop himself. He can't — 

He didn't try. 

And Porthos is staring at him. 

And his scents are... changing. 

Deepening. 

Turning *hungry*. 

Oh — 

"Daddy...?" 

"Son, we — I —" 

"Daddy, are *you*... pulling me? Somehow?" 

"I — I'll get better control —" 

"If you need me here, Daddy... I'm here," Porthos says, and his eyes are wide, full — thrilled. 

He's happy about this. 

He *wants* — no. 

*No*. 

He doesn't *know* — 

Treville leans in and licks Porthos, licks his ear and his mouth — 

"Oh — yeah —" And Porthos licks him *back* — 

"Son —" 

"Just tell me *where* you need me, Daddy —" 

Treville rumbles and rumbles and — steps back. 

"*Daddy* —" 

"It's all right, son —" 

"I'm pretty sure I can *feel* that you didn't want to *do* that —" 

"But the All-Mother would be right hacked-off if I let *both* my boys go hungry," Treville says, and smiles like an arsehole. 

Porthos stares at him for a moment — "Right, that just brings me to a point I'd been trying to avoid thinking about." 

"Mm?" 

"The missing *pieces* from the bodies." 

"Oh, those." 

"Yes, bloody those!" 

Treville bites back a snicker — 

"Daddy —" 

Treville *coughs* — "We really are going to have to feed Aramis better, son."


	8. A trip to the palace.

Aramis decides that he *does* want to join Treville for a trip to the palace, so Treville trims the ragged edges off a strip of leather from his *much*-damaged first cape — hanging with pride of place in this office's armoire — and ties it just so around Aramis's neck. 

No bow — he's just not that sort of cat — but two short, trailing tails...

Treville leans back and examines his handiwork — 

Yes, perfect. 

Once he gets to the stables, he's not at all surprised to find that the 'honour guard' he'd chosen for himself has been quietly replaced by Athos and Porthos. 

Who are looking at him and *daring* him to say something about it. 

He shows them Aramis and his new accessory, instead. 

"Oh, *that's* nice," Porthos says. 

Athos nods. "It quite suits him." 

Aramis *looks* at Athos. 

"Did you think I was being dishonest? Porthos has already told me how you've acquitted yourself with honour and bravery. I'm honoured to make your acquaintance," Athos says, removing his riding glove and offering Aramis his hand. 

Aramis sniffs it thoroughly — and scent-marks it just a little. 

Athos hums. "Thank you very much for that." 

Aramis purrs. 

Porthos gets more thorough scent-markings when he scratches Aramis's cheek and chin, and then it's time to mount up and ride. 

Aramis really does do *very* well on horseback. 

Once at the palace, Treville cheerfully asks Richelieu if there's anything wrong — 

If there's any *reason* why he seems to be paying so much attention to Treville today — 

If he's *looking* for anything in particular...

Aramis proves to be an excellent excuse for both of them. 

He introduces Aramis to everyone — as Armand, just in case — lying joyously when Louis asks if he bites — 

Scratches — 

Oh, it can be *fun* to be a bastard!

And, after that, the rest of the day is routine. 

Jockeying, helping the Queen keep Louis on a lead, not being *too* obvious about wanting to grind Richelieu's face into the tiles...

It's tiring, but it's always better with Porthos there — and Athos to have those ever-so-subtle expressions of tamped-down *black* humour. 

Treville may loathe what had happened to him — what had happened to the family that was once his *own* — but he loves Athos just as much as he'd loved Olivier. 

More, in some ways. 

He isn't sure what kind of person being able to admit that makes him — other than an honest one — but he'll *take* the honesty. 

He knows it's what's needed from him by the people who love him most. 

When it's time to go, the Queen surrenders 'Armand' — who had been curled happily in her lap — with a chip or two in the facade of her perfect grace, which is just as it should be, as far as Treville is concerned. 

He promises to bring 'Armand' more often, and this cheers her *immensely*. 

And then, well... 

Then it's time to ride back to the garrison. 

After he and Richelieu wish each other the best of health, of course. 

Treville can hear Athos huffing that little absence of a laugh behind them. 

Once they're actually on horseback — 

"*When* are we ending that arsehole, Daddy?" 

"Just as soon as he gives us the opportunity, son." 

"*Good*, but —" 

"It can't get back to us. It can't even splash vaguely in our *direction*, sons," Treville says, and dutifully lets himself be thoroughly *protected* by his deadliest men. 

"I *know* that, but —" 

"If I may?" And Athos is neither looking in his direction nor letting his lips move overmuch. 

"Right, you go ahead, brother." 

"Yes, Athos, go on." 

"You've committed to this course, have you not?" 

Treville thinks of Richelieu sending men to a place where his son was *sleeping*... "Yes," he says, flatly. 

Athos nods once. "You have options other men do not. *We* may not be able to be of assistance in this way —" 

"*Oi* —" 

"— but you *have* a potential partner. Curled in your cloak." 

Aramis stiffens in obvious shock against Treville's side. 

Treville reaches in to stroke him with bare fingers — 

(What. Mussst we *do*.) 

Son, no, you don't have to — 

(You kill my enemies. I kill YOUR enemies.) 

Well, that makes sense to *every* part of him, but — 

(No — no — stop making me TALK!)

Treville winces and strokes Aramis. "Sorry about that, Aramis." 

"What did he say, Daddy?" 

"I..." 

Athos hums. "I strongly suspect —" 

"He absolutely agrees with your plan, yeah, he would. He's a good bloke. He — fuck. Daddy, you know I'd rather take care of this for you —" 

"I know, son —" 

"You know it's driving me *mad* *not* to take care of this for you —" 

"Son —" 

"But we *all* know that Aramis *can* be a partner to you this way." 

"Of *course* he can —" 

"Perhaps," Athos says, "your goddess brought the two of you together for a reason." 

Treville licks his lips — 

Aramis isn't *purring* the way he usually is when they're ahorse — 

And. 

And he has to explain this. 

"Sometimes, Aramis, I want to be more protective than, perhaps, I should be." 

And that would be the sound of claws digging in to his leathers — and a *frustrated* growl. 

Treville smiles ruefully. "I won't hold you back, son, but —" 

Those claws are trying to *tear* at his leathers — 

"I know. I *know*. But you would have to shift." 

Aramis stiffens beside him — but only for a moment. 

He doesn't hiss. 

He doesn't growl. 

He doesn't draw away from Treville's *touch* — 

(I will do it...)

*Son* —

(...if you will let me kill more of *my* enemies.) 

Treville blinks. Of *course* — 

(Good. Let me sssleep now. Teach me later.) 

Treville strokes Aramis firmly and gently and slowly as they ride. 

And just... thinks. 

Laurent, years ago, had told him that there was nothing more humbling, nothing more frightening, and nothing more *uplifting* than the loyalty and faith another man gives freely to you, and that's been borne out in countless ways in the years since Treville's been Captain. 

Since he's been forced to be both the man he *is*... and the man his men have needed him to be. 

*These* men *don't* need that second man. 

*These* men give their loyalty to the messy, half-broken, filthy-minded *arsehole* he actually *is* — and make that man better without changing him in any fundamental way. *Somehow*. 

And, somehow, Aramis has slotted himself in... perfectly. 

Somehow he's made himself just as necessary, just as *vital* — no. He'd done it through his bravery, his imperiousness, his affection and fearlessness and intellect — 

Even if Aramis does wind up wanting to spend his life in cat-form, Treville will want to *keep* him, because he's *right* for — 

Porthos laughs quietly, stroking his Yves. "So *how* did Aramis hurt your mind, mm?"

— all of them. 

"Yes, do tell," Athos says, and scans their perimeter. 

"He's agreed to learn to shift so we could... take care of our problem." 

Porthos lets out a low whistle. 

Athos raises an eyebrow. "Did he have a price?" 

"We'll be murdering more of *his* enemies," Treville says with relish. 

"Oh, hey." Porthos grins. "Maybe we can help with *that*." 

"One can only hope," Athos says. 

Treville sighs happily. Such good boys.


	9. It's time to answer a few questions. Thoroughly. And vigorously. *koff*

Aramis sleeps through much of the evening, and disappears for the rest, but Treville wakes to the sound of Aramis eating and drinking by the hearth in his sitting room and smiles. 

And dozes as he waits. 

Soon enough, there's a cat standing on his chest, staring balefully down at him and pressing one rough paw to Treville's lips. 

I'm here, son. 

(Teach me. Show me.) 

First, let me examine the blocks on you. Examine you with my *power*. 

*Vehement* tail-flick. 

I know, you hate it, but this could make a lot of things *faster* and *easier*. I promise. 

Aramis looks at him for a long moment — 

A *long* moment — 

(If... I don't fight... it won't hurt.) It's almost not a question. 

Not at all, son. 

Aramis looks at him hard and *presses* with his paw. (That's never true... in other circumstances.) 

Treville — growls. Let's go murder some of your enemies *immediately* after this — 

Aramis purrs and sits and drags his tail over and over Treville's belly. 

Yes? That sounds good to you?

(Yes! But... they are not in Paris.) 

You're getting better at talking... 

(I — I...) 

And *we* have some options for traveling. I'll show you, Treville says, and gives the slow blink. 

Aramis purrs more, seemingly helplessly. (Examine me. Please.) And he moves his paw from Treville's mouth back to his chest, sitting straight and tall as he can. 

Good boy. *Excellent* boy, Treville says, and strokes Aramis's back with one hand and touches his chest with the other, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. 

He reaches gently — 

More and more *deeply* — 

Pushes aside Aramis's reflexive resistance *respectfully* — 

Aramis mews and shivers — 

It's all right, little one, Treville says, stroking inside and out. I won't hurt you.

(Not... not...) 

I won't ever hurt you, he says, and keeps stroking, keeps *easing*. 

Slowly is the way. 

*Carefully* — 

(You... have done this before?) 

Treville rumbles softly for the better, obviously more *comfortable* speech and keeps stroking. I have, son. 

(With other shifters? Other cats?) 

Treville rumbles more and shares images of himself learning how to do this from Jason Blood — 

(Who is he?) 

My brother. My love. My ally in the left-handed war. I'll introduce you — 

(He is a good man? A good, hard man? A soldier?) 

Treville smiles. All of those things. 

(How will he feel now that you have fallen in love with your *son*?) 

Treville *coughs* —

Aramis is *looking* at him — 

Pressing *hard* with his paw on Treville's mouth —

Treville licks it. 

(Ai! Treville —) 

Jason and I have never been... exclusive. He doesn't stay on this *sphere*, much less in this *country*, Aramis. 

(He... what?) 

He walks the spheres. The *worlds*. By his estimation, they are... numberless. And there are more and more and more every time a choice is made that would change... something. The *course* of something. Does that make —

(I must — I want — I want to study —) 

And Aramis growls — 

Backs away, but stays on Treville's chest — 

Shakes his head as if he smells something bad — 

Treville sits up on his elbows. "Son? I can feel something *moving* within you —" 

Aramis *presses* his paws to Treville's bare chest — 

"It's all right —" 

Aramis is *shaking* — 

Treville reaches for him and strokes him, tries to *gentle* him — "I promise it's all *right*, son —" 

(I do not want — it's not *safe*!) 

And Treville gets it. He can't — 

Treville sits up completely and strokes Aramis softly, carefully, *gently* as he shakes. "It's safe here, son —" 

(No!) 

"No one will hurt you —" 

(I don't — that is *never* true!) 

"No one will hurt the *boy* in you," Treville says, and holds in his wince when Aramis digs his claws in — 

Shivers and — 

Aramis mews *painfully* softly. 

So hurt. 

So — 

He's still *shaking* — 

Treville strokes him and caresses — 

"The boy in you will always be safe here, son. Nothing will ever — we'll protect you. *I'll* protect you." 

And Aramis is silent for long moments — 

Panting the way cats normally just *don't* — 

Digging his claws *in* — 

And obviously thinking. 

Treville strokes him.

Caresses and rumbles and — 

(They.) 

"I'm listening, son." 

(They...) 

"I'm listening to everything you have to say. I always will."

(It was not even safe to study! It was NEVER SAFE!) 

Treville growls, reflexively tightening his grip — he stops that. "I apologize for that —" 

(NO!) 

"Right. I do *not* apologize for —" 

(*You* would have hurt them. *You* would have — would have —) And Aramis growls, deep in his throat, and shudders. 

"I don't let *anyone* hurt children without suffering for it —" 

(Even *priests*!)

Treville snarls. "We'll find them, son. We'll... take our time..."

Aramis shudders more — 

Pants *once* more — and looks up into Treville's eyes. 

*His* eyes are wide, and full, and lambent... 

Treville strokes Aramis firmly, gently — "They've already lived far too long. Haven't they, son."

Aramis stands, putting his paws on Treville's chest again — and then there's a *wrench* in the connection between them as he tries to shift. 

Tries to *force* himself — 

"Shh, shh, easy, son —" 

(I must — I *want* —) 

"Just reach for the boy. Reach for everything that feels... human. More human." 

(I do not *like* —) But Aramis does it, scrabbling and clawing within himself — 

"Gently, son. You can do it. This power is yours for the *having*." 

Aramis yowls in *frustration* — but gentles his touch. 

*Reaches* — 

And the boy on Treville's lap is panting — 

Staring — 

*Blinking* — 

Treville gives him the *slow* blink and strokes his soft, chestnut-and-gold hair. "Wasn't expecting this..." 

"Rrrt? I! I mean —" And Aramis, who has turned out to be a *staggeringly* beautiful young man with pale golden skin and too many *scars*, sticks his tongue out —

Pinches it between his fingers — 

Stares at his *fingers* — 

Backs off Treville's lap into a crouch and — pads around the bed, occasionally pausing to sniff at his own hands. 

Treville smiles at him. "That was very good, by the way —" 

"I needed too much — too much *instruction* —" 

"Not at all —" 

"Do not *cosset* me!"

"Right you are, son," Treville says, and grins at the boy currently sniffing his own shoulder as if it's offended him. "I'll only say this: You picked that up *much* faster than other shifters who've been stuck for as long as you have." 

"You do not know how long —" 

"You're about sixteen or seventeen in human years, judging by your growth, and you were nearly fully-grown as a cat... and that in itself is *almost* meaningless."

"*Yes* —" 

"Most shifters *can't* shift, at all, until they're at least twelve or thirteen. How old were you...?" 

"I was fourteen! So you see —" 

"I see that you're *naked*, and you almost certainly weren't when you shifted away from human-form for the last time. Your clothes disintegrated. The magic couldn't protect them from everything you were doing *as* a cat." 

"I..." 

"I also know that you were being abused by *priests* —" 

Aramis *hisses* — 

"Which strongly suggests that you were in one of those godawful Church 'schools' when your shift came on you —" 

"Yes! But that is not why they whipped me! That is not why they caned us and — and all of those other things!" 

"You ran away." 

Aramis shrinks against the headboard. 

"Oh, son, no —" 

"I should have stayed. I should have *hurt* them. I should have killed them *all*." 

"Did you even know you *could* do that?" 

"I..." 

"Or had you been chasing mice and birds and the more interesting insects?" 

Aramis ducks his head. 

Treville joins him at the head of the bed, and pets his hair. "Easy, son. There are a lot of lessons shifters need to learn about their powers before they can be *remotely* effective with them." 

"*Yes*, and —" 

"And *you* learned everything the hard way. Didn't you." 

Aramis doesn't speak. 

Doesn't turn *toward* Treville. 

Tries to dig his blunt, human fingernails into the *pillow* — 

"Son..." 

"I do not wish... excuses." 

"Reasons, son. *Reasons*. I blundered like a *fool* with my powers, and I *had* guidance. Jason — well, Jason will *tell* you some of the shit he got up to with *his* powers when they were new to him. And when they *weren't* so new. *This isn't easy*. This isn't even *hard*. This... this is *damned* challenging. For *anyone*." 

*That* makes Aramis look at him. *Haughtily*. "I *excel* at challenges." 

Treville grins. "Well, I already knew that..." He strokes Aramis's cheek with his fingertips — 

Aramis does his *best* to scent-mark him — 

Growls when his musk isn't shared — 

Concentrates — and Treville can feel him doing *something* with his power. 

"Son...?" 

"I have to... I have to *mark*." 

"All right..." 

"I —" Aramis narrows his eyes and growls more — 

And, abruptly, his scents rise. 

"Yes!" And then he shoves Treville down to the *bed* — 

"Hey —" 

— and crawls up over him and kneads his chest, eyes narrowing in a wild smile. 

Treville laughs hard and reaches up to stroke Aramis's cheeks again — 

"No, I do not want this now!" 

"No? All right. Should I pet —" 

"Pet me!" 

"Right you are, son," Treville says, laughing more and petting Aramis's flexing shoulders — 

So much strength — 

Such a well-*made* boy —

He reaches for the soft waves of Aramis's hair with one hand — 

"No, not that!" 

"Right you are, son," Treville says, and moves that hand right back to Aramis's shoulder — 

Aramis purrs —

Wriggles — 

Purrs *more* — 

"I'll always love that sound, son..." 

"My Treville likes his boys to be *happy*," Aramis says, between purrs, and keeps *kneading* — 

And Treville has to catch his breath for more than one reason. 

Has to — 

But Aramis is studying him, gazing at him with human eyes, yellow-brown and brilliant and focused and *dissecting* — 

And Treville has to give answer. 

He squeezes Aramis's shoulders gently. "Your Treville *lives* for his boys' happiness." 

Aramis kneads *harder* — 

Purrs *louder* — 

Flushes and leans *in* — 

*Fuck* — "Aramis, *wait* —" 

"You are not *exclusive* with your Jason. You have not *told* your Porthos how you feel, yet. You can kiss me!" 

"Do you truly *want* —" 

"I want a kiss! I do not remember how and that is *infuriating* —" 

"Oh, fuck —" 

"Yes? You will teach your Aramis? You will guide and show the way you always do?" 

Treville *growls* — and pushes one hand into Aramis's hair — 

"I love my Treville's *hands*!" 

"Is that all *right* —" 

"*Kiss* me!" 

Treville pulls him in, pulls him *close* — 

He's so warm — 

So lean and strong and his mouth — 

His mouth is soft. 

His lips are *moving* against Treville's own, matching Treville's motions and — 

Aramis is still *purring* — 

Open-mouthed and so — 

Treville *licks* — 

"Ai!" 

Treville licks and licks and — 

Aramis *grips* Treville's face and licks him back, licks his tongue and his lips and his cheek — 

Aramis shivers and *undulates* against him — 

Treville strokes down to his hip with his free hand, grips without *stilling* — 

He can smell warmth, sweetness, *musk* — 

His own *and* Aramis's — 

Treville *nips* his cheek — 

"*Yes*!" 

"Daddy? I heard — voices — oh. Uh."

Treville *stares* at the ceiling for a moment — 

It's the only thing he *can* do — 

And by the time he can think, Aramis is up and crawling to the foot of the bed, naked and hard and — 

Fuck, *fuck* — 

Treville sits *up* — 

"Porthos! I am Aramis!"

Porthos blinks several times — 

Stares — 

Licks his *lips* — 

"Son —" 

"Wait, Daddy, I —" And then Porthos laughs hard and breathlessly. "Aramis, did he *seduce* you into shifting? I mean, he *can* —" 

"Son, *no* —" 

"Yes!" Aramis says, and wriggles. He's still on all *fours*. "He made me feel safe and warm and secure and he promised that he would kill all my enemies!" 

"Yeah, that would work on me," Porthos says, and leans in the doorway. He's wearing only his breeches, his hair is a soft cloud, he's bloody *magnificent* — 

And Treville is blinking at both of them. 

"Was he petting you, too?" 

"Oh, yes! With his hard, rough hands! You must make him do this to you!"

Porthos touches his tongue to his upper lip — but only for a moment before he's grinning at Aramis. "Must I...?" 

"Yes! Your hands are very good — very big and strong! — but our Treville's hands are hard with the work of *years*." 

"Yeah. They are," Porthos says, and *licks* his lips — 

"You do not like this, Porthos?" 

"I *love* it. I want his hands on me... all the time." 

*Fuck* — 

Aramis *undulates* — 

Treville can *feel* the wickedness of his smile, even though he can't see it — 

"Boys — *sons* —" 

"My Treville..." And Aramis looks back over his strong shoulder. 

Treville sees very specific portions of his *life* flash before his eyes — "What. What is it, son?" 

"Do you want to kiss and touch and lick and caress *all* of your sons...?"

Shit. 

Porthos drops his big hand to his groin and *squeezes* his thickening cock — 

Aramis makes an *appreciative* noise — 

"I am *very* interested in the answer to this question, Daddy." 

"Son, I —" 

"Because I'm reasonably bloody sure that this is what you haven't been *saying* to me —" 

"It is," Treville says, standing up and raising his hands. "It is, and I — I'm in love with you —" 

"Oh, Daddy..." 

"I'm never going to *pressure* you, or —" 

"Pressure — bloody *hell*, Daddy, you have to know I've been tossing myself *off* to you for *months* now!" 

Treville *grunts*, cock jerking *hard* under his breeches — 

Aramis makes *another* appreciative noise — 

Wait, no. Treville turns to Aramis. "Son, are you all right?" 

"Will my Treville kiss me again? All over my mouth?" 

Treville flushes — 

*Hungers* —

And Porthos is behind and beside him — 

Porthos is leaning in to breathe *hot* on Treville's ear — 

"Did you lick him *instead* of kissing him, Daddy...?" 

Treville *pants* — 

"Did you give him the *dog's* kisses...?" 

Treville squeezes his eyes shut — 

"Oh, Porthos, is our Treville incapable of kissing like a man? Will you kiss me?" 

Porthos *grunts* — 

And that... 

That is a lot of wonderful ideas at once. 

Treville licks his lips and opens his eyes. "He's forgotten how, son." 

"He — uh. What?" 

"I do not know how to *kiss*, my Porthos!" 

"Your — oh, shit." 

Treville hums. "I see you've noticed how affecting that is —" 

"You're an *arse*, Daddy, but — uh. Aramis..." 

Aramis crawls to the corner of the bed closest to both of them and kneels up. He's hard, sleek, lean and — 

And that cock isn't barbed, at all. Hm.

"Shit, we've lost him. Daddy, come back to us —" 

"No, no, son, I'm here, I'm just wondering where Aramis's *mark* is." 

"His — what? Oh. *Oh*." And Porthos is staring at Aramis's cock, too. 

"What! What is wrong with my cock? What is this *mark*?" 

And Treville can actually be a responsible adult and *teach*. "Son, shifters — when they're in human-form — always show *some* sign of their true animal natures. When they're earth-mages, that sign tends to be in or *on* their genitals." 

"What." 

Treville smiles wryly and opens his breeches, revealing the dog-cock he's had for over a generation now. 

"I! You — that is very *big* for a dog cock, my Treville!" 

"Thank you, son —" 

"Go on, Aramis. Call him 'Daddy'. See what happens." 

"*Shit* —" 

Porthos *and* Aramis laugh at him — 

Treville laces his breeches *tight* — 

"Oh, no, Daddy, no —" 

"*Aramis* —" 

And Aramis smiles... brilliantly. Broadly. *Humanly*. 

Except for those rather remarkable canines. 

"Uh. Well. I think we've found his mark, Daddy." 

Treville moves close and gently lifts Aramis's chin — 

"What is it —" 

"Your teeth, son. They're just a little too sharp for you to smile *quite* that broadly in front of... witnesses." 

"I will kill all the witnesses!" 

Porthos snickers. "He really does know how to stroke your cock, doesn't he, Daddy?" 

"I'm a simple man with a simple needs, son —" 

"I NEED TO BE KISSED!" 

Treville *licks* into Aramis's mouth — 

*Between* those deadly teeth — 

"*MM*!" 

Lengthens and flattens his tongue — 

"Mm! *MM*!" 

And then pulls back to lick Aramis's face and throat — 

"More! Please more —" 

Treville steps *back* — and raises an eyebrow at Porthos. 

Porthos gives him a *hot* look — 

A *promising* look — 

And then he pulls Aramis to his feet, wraps one arm around his waist and cups the back of his head with his other hand — 

"Oh, my Porthos!" 

"Will you still sit in my lap if I make myself smell just right...?" 

"You *always* smell good! Now kiss me!" 

Porthos growls and kisses Aramis *hard*, holding him still for it, stroking him *through* it — 

Treville can *tell* that Porthos is fucking Aramis's mouth — 

That he's *teaching* Aramis something slow and filthy and *perfect* — 

He strokes down to Aramis's *arse* — 

Squeezes and *caresses* — 

Aramis pushes closer *while* scent-marking Porthos's face — 

"Oh, that's sweet, Aramis. That's — mm." And Porthos drags his *beard* over Aramis's face.

"Yes — oh, *yes*!" 

Porthos grins and moves in for another kiss — 

But Aramis turns away and *grips* Treville by the wrist, doing his best to haul him close. 

"Son —" 

"Why are you *resisting*?" 

And the look in Porthos's eyes is... so hungry. So — 

And Aramis is so *strong*, so — 

"I haven't the faintest clue," Treville says, breathless and laughing, and closes the distance between them — 

Gently breaks Aramis's grip so he can stroke him — 

His hair and his face — 

Meets Porthos's *gaze* — 

"Daddy... you have to know I'll do anything for you. You *have* to." 

Treville winces with *lust* — "I heard you... tossing yourself off. Two weeks ago." 

Porthos raises his eyebrows. "I've done it a lot more since then —" 

"I've tried to *avoid* —" Treville growls. "I was going to your rooms to *talk* to you. To — share memories with you. Of Amina." 

"Oh — shit —" 

"I heard you, and I couldn't tear myself away. I couldn't — I'd just been *dreaming* of being in bed with *both* of you, playing with that little ragdoll while my Amina-love laughed and you tried to snatch it out of the air with your chubby *fists* —" 

"*Shit* —" 

"But I heard you, son. Heard you moaning, cursing. *Stroking* yourself. *Choking* on your groans because it was just that *good*. I leaned against the wall — next to the door leading into your bedroom —" 

"Oh, fuck, Daddy, I was tossing it thinking of *you*." 

Treville *growls*. "What do I do, son. What do I do in your *dreams*." 

"Uh. *Not* tear yourself apart because you're my father?" 

Treville *coughs* — 

Porthos *grins* — and leans in to lick his mouth. 

"Oh, son... son, I want *everything* — tell me what *you* want —" 

"I want to *know* what you want. I want to hear you *talking* about it. I want you to get bloody *filthy*," Porthos says, and they're breathing each other's breath. 

"Is that so..." 

"I know you *can*, Daddy..." 

Treville growls — and *bites* Porthos's jaw through his beard — 

"*Shit*, yes —" 

Treville pulls *back* — 

"Wait, don't —" 

"Tell me — one thing. One specific thing. Let me hear it in your *voice*, son." 

"Unh. Yeah. Yeah, all right, Daddy. Anything you say," Porthos says, and licks his lips. "I want you to fuck me *hard*. I want you to *use* me —" 

Treville *snarls* — 

"— as a *teaching* aid for *Aramis* —" 

"I!" 

"— so *he* knows what he's going to *get*." And Porthos licks his lips and raises his *eyebrows*, just as if he expects Treville to have a *mind* after — 

Wait — 

Treville looks to Aramis. "Son, are you —" 

"I am well! I remember fucking!" His eyes are *wide*. 

"That... I'm concerned about that, son..." 

"My Daddy will help me bite the cocks off *all* the priests!" 

"Well, that's true —" 

"And first he will show me why our Porthos enjoys the act so much," Aramis says, nodding and — kneading Porthos's chest. 

Porthos stares in horror — 

Melts *obviously* — 

And then *lifts* Aramis into his arms — 

"Oh, my *Porthos* —" 

"Can I have another kiss...?"

Aramis purrs and purrs and leans in — and stops. "You did not kiss Daddy! Not enough!" 

Porthos stares into Aramis's eyes — and grins. "You like being... fair." 

"Yes! Not *enough* things are fair in this world, my Porthos." 

"You're absolutely right," Porthos says, and lays Aramis down on the bed —

And Treville is already there, already cupping Porthos's cheeks, already *clawing* those cheeks a little — 

"Fuck — Daddy, *yeah* —" 

Pulling Porthos *in* — 

"Do it, please, anything —" 

Treville bites Porthos's lower lip — 

Porthos grunts — 

And Treville bites his upper lip — 

"Please, Daddy, please, *yes* —" 

Treville licks him, then — 

"*Mm* —" 

Licks him all *over* his face and throat, tasting sleep-sweat, interrupted rest, hunger — 

So much *hunger* — 

Salt and the natural sweetness of his beautiful son's *skin* — 

Porthos is moaning and *panting* — 

*Gripping* Treville, shoulder and the back of his head — 

Pulling him *in* — 

Treville *bites* his throat *hard* — 

"*Yes*! Daddy, *please* —" 

Treville sucks and *slurps* his way *off* — 

"Oh fuck — *fuck* —" 

— and pushes Porthos down onto the bed next to Aramis, who immediately grins and climbs atop him. 

"My Porthos needed this!"

Porthos blinks and *stares* for a long moment — and then he laughs. "I *truly* did," he says, and *nuzzles* Aramis — 

"Oh! Yes, yes, do this!" And Aramis rubs his cheeks against Porthos's — 

Against Porthos's mouth — 

Porthos *licks* Aramis's cheek — 

Aramis purrs and nips Porthos's ear with obvious gentleness — 

"Oh — *that's* nice, Aramis. Mm, you can do that whenever you *like*," Porthos says, and strokes down and down over Aramis's back — 

His hips — 

He cups Aramis's *arse* again — "You're *beautiful*. Is this all right?" 

Aramis pulls back and undulates, pushes up on Porthos's chest — 

Treville could honestly watch this for *hours* — 

"This is *well*, my Porthos. You will not hurt me! I can feel this thing, now that our Daddy has taught me how to look," Aramis says, and pushes back into Porthos's cupping hand — 

Porthos — rumbles — "I will *never* do anything you don't *enthusiastically* want me to do, and — *fuck*, you're incredible —" 

Aramis grins. "So are you and our *Daddy*," he says. "So is —" And Aramis turns to face *him*. "Daddy, *do* you desire Athos? I have not scented you around him when you have been *alone* with him —" 

Treville coughs — 

Porthos snickers. "Oh, this is going to be a choice answer." 

"Oh, yes? Why so?" Aramis turns back to Porthos — 

Treville *breathes* — 

"Daddy's Athos's *godfather*. Daddy was godfather to *both* the de la Fère children —" 

"There is another? I will meet them?" 

And Treville isn't breathing well, anymore. He sits down on the bed and cups Aramis's shoulder. "Athos's younger brother Thomas was murdered —" 

"No! Who did this thing? I will kill him!" 

Treville shares a pained look with Porthos. 

"Tell me! Tell me *now* —" 

Treville strokes Aramis's back — 

"Daddy —" 

"It was Athos's own wife, son." 

Aramis grunts — "No..." 

"Yeah," Porthos says. "None of us will ever know the complete story — he had her hanged immediately — but it was clear that she'd been lying to both of them from the beginning about just... everything. Lying and having her lies covered *up* by Athos because he loved her so much. He's been..." Porthos shakes his head. "He couldn't call to Daddy at the time because he was too much of a *mess* —" 

"But my Porthos had come back to me, and... I needed Athos — still Olivier to me, then — and Thomas to know it. To know *him*. He always would've been their brother, after all. I went to their manor, meaning to prepare them, and found my Athos more drunk than I'd ever seen him, and the manor all but ghostly. 

"I couldn't get answers from him, at *first*... but eventually he told me." Treville growls and shakes his head. "I did the only thing I could think *to* do. I gathered him to myself and brought him back here, sobered him up, and talked him into enlisting. Anything to get his mind *away* from that black *pit* —" 

"See, but Aramis? If you *ask* Athos about it, he'll tell you that one of the proudest moments of his *life* was Daddy telling him he thought Athos was fit to be a Musketeer, even through all that pain and fuckery." 

Treville *blinks* — 

Porthos *looks* at him — 

And Aramis nods thoughtfully. "Yes, this makes sense. But why is Athos not here *now*?" 

And that... 

"Asked him that question," Porthos says. "When Daddy started *gently* pushing for me to move in with him." 

"I craved it from the beginning, son." 

"You *told* me you wanted it that first day in your office —" 

"*Yes* —" 

Porthos shakes his head, smiling ruefully. "I had to — you had to know me. At least some. I needed that." 

Treville reaches with his free hand and strokes Porthos's curls. "I know, son. But what did Athos say when you asked him why he didn't live with me?" 

Porthos's expression quirks. 

"Oh, what *is* it?" And Aramis touches Porthos's mouth with his fingertips. 

Porthos *blinks* — 

*Kisses* Aramis's fingertips — 

Aramis laughs and kneads once at Porthos's *face* — "I forgot that touching you like this would not help you communicate with me!" And *then* he moves his hand — 

Porthos blinks again — "You were... pressing your little paw to Daddy's mouth?" 

"Yes! And then he *licked* me to *tease*!" 

Porthos blinks rapidly — and turns to Treville with a *pointed* look on his face. 

"Those rough little paw-pads felt very good on my tongue, son," Treville says. As blandly as possible. 

Porthos looks *stricken*. "I... am never going to ask you what your type is." 

"Probably for the best, son," Treville says, and licks his lips. And face. 

Aramis purrs and purrs and kneads Porthos's chest, obviously thrilled — 

Treville *grips* Aramis's hip and leans in to lick his throat, his cheek — 

"Oh, yes, Daddy, but you both must tell me —" 

"Right, right, I'm only a *little* distracted by the thought of Daddy doing that to you while you're in *tiny little cat-form* —" 

Treville coughs — 

And *Porthos* coughs — "Oh, fuck, he's *glowing* at me, Daddy!" 

Treville bites back a snicker and nips at the line of Aramis's jaw before pulling back a little — "You mustn't try to *limit* your brother, son." 

"My — oh, I like *that*..." 

"Yes? My Porthos wants another brother?" 

"*Yeah*, I do. Do *you* want a brother, Aramis?" 

He's kneading again — 

Grinning *ferociously* — 

Purring so — 

"Yes, my Porthos! My brother! *Big* brother," Aramis says, and kneads his way *down* Porthos's chest and belly — 

Scoots away from his groin — 

"Oi, wait —" 

"Spread your *legs*, big brother!" 

Treville laughs and makes *room* — 

"Oh my *God*, that's hot — anything you say, little brother —" 

"Yes, that is *very* hot," Aramis says — and then *stops* smiling as he stares at Porthos's breeches. 

It —

"Oh — shit. You don't remember laces, do you, little brother?" 

Aramis growls, and the shift *ripples* through him as he very clearly considers *clawing* Porthos's breeches off. 

"It's all right —" 

"Here, son," Treville says, taking Aramis's hands and putting them on the tails of the laces, guiding them in the tugging — 

The loosening — 

The loosening of Porthos's *breeches*, and they're bulging, damp — 

But Treville's hands *will* not shake. 

He must teach. 

Even though Porthos is *panting* — 

Even though Aramis is *purring* — 

"Do you see, son?" And he guides Aramis through gently peeling the fabric away from Porthos's *straining* cock — 

"Oh — *oh*! Yes! Now show me how to *tie*!" 

"Oh, shit," Porthos says, and groans a laugh. 

Aramis looks up at Porthos. "No, big brother?" 

"*Fuck* — I. No. Do it. *Absolutely* do it, because you need this information —" 

"Yes! I do!" 

"And I can... focus on other things," Porthos says, and licks his lips — 

And squeezes his eyes shut — 

And lays his head flat on the pillow, not looking at either of them. 

"Good boy," Treville says, and guides Aramis into folding the fabric back in place — 

"Th-thank you — fuck — *fuck* — *right*, no. *Athos*," Porthos says, and laughs — 

"Oh, yes, tell me!" Aramis says, and pauses to pet Porthos's belly before giving his hands back to Treville.

"I asked him about living with Daddy, and the *first* thing he said was that it was *unseemly*." 

"He said that to me, too," Treville says, and shows Aramis how to *gently* tighten the laces. 

"Yes, I see! What was his real reason?" 

"The *next* thing he said, when I pushed him, was that it would hurt Daddy's standing at court to have Athos there without adopting him, even though Daddy's his godfather. Which is *true*." 

"Very true," Treville says, and shows Aramis a simple half-hitch. "And where we — mostly — left it." 

"Mostly, Daddy?" 

"I argued with Athos to the point where I was forced to admit that the new — and *old*, and *true* — rumours about my buggery would force *Louis* to remove me as Captain of the King's Musketeers, whether or not I could find anyone who could reasonably replace me — or stand up to Richelieu." 

Aramis winces — and bats Treville's hands aside gently so he can unlace Porthos's breeches again by himself. "Athos is an excellent tactician." 

"He *absolutely* is, little brother," Porthos says, and pushes up on his elbows. "*Always*. He's just also an *arse*." 

"What? Why is this?"

"He's — wait, don't rub — that... yet..." 

Aramis grins and purrs and rubs Porthos's freed cock *harder* — 

"*Fuck* —" 

Treville catches Aramis's hands and tugs them *away* from Porthos's cock — 

"Daddy! No!" Aramis tries to free himself — 

Treville holds tighter. "We must *listen* when our loves refuse us, son. Like so," he says, and *then* releases Aramis. 

Aramis frowns. "I only wished to play!"

Treville licks Aramis's cheek — 

"Daddy —" 

"You must play in... careful ways when you're with a lover, son. *Especially* a new lover," Treville says, and strokes down Aramis's arms. 

"I... this is so?" 

"It is, son. There'll *be* games you can play — all kinds of games, and many of them won't seem careful, at all —" 

"*Oh* —" 

"— but you have to learn those games *with* your lovers." 

"That's right, little brother. I'll show you... mm," Porthos says, and licks his lips. "I'll show you all *sorts* of games, and we can decide *together* which ones we want to play."

"Oh, yes! Yes, do this! Both of you do this!" 

Porthos and Treville grin together — 

And Treville licks up the back of Aramis's neck.

"Ah! Daddy, yes —" 

"Let your brother tell us... exactly what Athos has *failed* to tell *me*." 

"Oh — *oh*. Yes, big brother. I will wait for this!" 

Porthos looks Aramis up and down — 

Looks to be making *many* plans — 

And then turns to Treville. "He loves it when you call him 'son', Daddy. Just like I do." 

"I —" 

"*Just* like I do, because he *asked* me about it, how I *felt* about it, and the *world* was in his eyes, and of course I was honest with him, and I said that any man who *didn't* want to be your son was mad or *evil* —" 

"*Fuck* —" 

"— and *he* said he agreed wholeheartedly, and he licked those lips of his. And I pushed it. I *pushed* it, Daddy, the way I hadn't when we *first* had the conversation, and I asked him if that meant he *did* want you to adopt him." And Porthos stops. And looks at him. 

"Son..." 

"And I'm not breaking a bloody confidence, Daddy. But I told *him* that it *shouldn't* be a secret." 

Treville opens his mouth — 

Closes it — 

Opens it again — "Son... that... you shouldn't have..." He can't finish that thought. 

He can't even *begin* to finish that thought, because the things he's scented on Athos when the two of them have been together — 

The things he's scented since the days when Athos was still *Olivier* — 

Treville shakes himself, pants — "Thank you, son." 

Porthos inclines his head. 

Aramis purrs. "My Daddy will have a *big* pack, with *all* the sons!" 

"That's *right* —" 

Treville coughs —

"And daughters? Are there daughters? Sisters for us?" 

Treville blinks. "I —" 

"Hey, yeah, we ought to get some of those," Porthos says, sitting up the rest of the way and pushing his hands into Aramis's hair. "Daddy already told you that his cock works *that* way, too, right?" 

"Oh, yes!" 

"Wait, wait, am I supposed to *fuck* my hypothetical daughters?" 

"Well, you don't want them to get *jealous*, Daddy." 

Treville stares. 

"*Come* on, now. You can braid their hair —" 

"Porthos —" 

"Dandle them on your knee —" 

"Porthos, how *old* are these girls?" 

Porthos laughs *filthily*. "You tell me, Daddy," he says, and licks a long stripe up Aramis's cheek. "What do you *like* in a girl? Other than my mum, of course." 

Aramis sighs. "She was very beautiful in your father's memories, big brother!" 

Porthos shivers. "I want that. I want to *see*. I want *everything* —" He growls. "Enough of that. I don't have magic, and that's that." 

"Son... you *do* have magic. You —" 

"But not *enough*. Right?" 

And Treville has to — admit this. "I could have... forced the bond between us." 

Porthos frowns and strokes Aramis's hair. "What do you mean?" 

"I could have..." Treville growls. "We were bound by blood — and a lot of other things — when you were still in the *womb*, son."

"Right, you said. What —" 

Treville reaches, brushing the few barriers between them aside. 

(What what — Daddy!) 

It's just as easy as he'd always hungered for — and feared — 

(Daddy — you — you — *EXPLAIN*!) 

(Yes, Daddy, explain!) 

(What the bloody — *Aramis*?) 

He's a powerful spirit-mage, he's touching you, and you're not even trying to hold him back from your soul, son.

(Right, fine, but — what — what is — TALK!) 

Treville squeezes his eyes shut — no. "You were bound to me before you were *born*, son. I — always could have done this." 

"Why the bloody hell *didn't* you — no. I *know* why. You wanted to give me my *privacy*. You wanted to keep from running me *over*. You wanted to be a 'good father'. You wanted — sodding *hell*, Daddy, how many bloody times do I have to *tell* you —" 

"No more," Treville says, and gives him Amina. 

Amina throwing her head back and cackling at one of her *own* filthy jokes — 

Amina snickering like a child and *smacking* Treville *hard* for one of *his* filthy jokes — 

Amina singing to Treville in her low, rumbling voice as she cleaned up his wounds from a particularly *exciting* night out — she'd had fewer — 

Amina beaming as she danced — 

Amina making a *face* as she danced the then-latest court fashion —

_Amina pregnant and nude and sweating, crooning, riding his *knot* —_

_Jerking and bouncing —_

_Such short motions —_

_It had felt like she was trying to get *away* from him, and he'd had to grip her heavy hips harder, tighter —_

_Hold her still as he *rutted* —_

_Hold her tight and growl, snarl, *claw* at her and hold her with *one* hand so he could suck her blood away —_

_("Oh, sweet *brother* —"_

_"I NEED YOU!"_

_"Do not stop! DO NOT STOP!")_

_And he'd snarled and shoved his hand between her legs, seeking for her pleasure-button, for her wide-open cunt, for her pleasure-button *again* —_

_Rubbing and splitting his fingers with it just like she'd *taught* him —_

_Using his *calluses* —_

_She'd *howled* —_

_She'd spurted all *over* him —_

_He'd bucked and snarled again, rutted faster, *faster* —_

_She'd panted and clawed *him*, howled *again*, sung a howl and tossed her head and clenched so —_

_So —_

_And then they were howling together as Treville's knot swelled and swelled and he spent, *pulsed* deep inside her, his mate, his *mate* —_

_Filled her *up* —_

_("*Yes*!")_

_His eyes had rolled up —_

_She'd clawed him *again* —_

_And he'd gripped both of her hips again and fucked her through it. Fucked her hard, fucked her *rough* —_

_Fucked her *dirty*, until she was slumped over and crooning again, petting him and lolling her pink tongue —_

_Until his knot was so swollen he couldn't *move* —_

_Couldn't do anything but keep his mate plugged, keep her *filled* with his seed and —_

_Pet her back._

"Uh." 

*Shit* — 

"Daddy, do you always fuck so hard?" And Aramis is looking at him *curiously* — 

Fuck — "I..." 

"So I'm getting that you definitely like your women *pregnant*, Daddy," Porthos says, and *looks* at him — 

"Son — son, I didn't mean to —" 

"*Share* that? I *figured* that —" 

"Wait, he did not mean to share? Why not?" And Aramis is looking back and forth between them. 

Treville — sweats. 

Porthos stares. "Uhh..."

"Is it because Porthos does *not* like pregnant women? Why not?" Aramis stares at Porthos. 

Porthos looks like Aramis is aiming a cannon at him. 

Treville has to cope. "Ah —" He coughs. "Ah, son, most people... don't want to watch their parents making love." 

Aramis frowns. "But..." 

Porthos sweats. 

"I... recognize that that... is a bit... ah. *Considering* the situation we all find ourselves in, but —" 

"Ah! Porthos did not desire his *mother*!"

Treville breathes. "No. No, son, he didn't. That's just right." 

Aramis beams and turns back to Porthos. "Why not?" 

Porthos makes a soft, pained noise. 

Treville bites the back of Aramis's neck, slowly and firmly — 

"NNH — oh, Daddy! I will obey!" 

Don't question Porthos about this... for now, little one. 

"Yes, Daddy! But when —"

"I'll tell you when I'm ready to talk about it, little brother. I promise," Porthos says. 

"Thank you, big brother!" 

Treville strokes Aramis's sides and chest — 

His knuckles drag against *Porthos's* chest — 

And Porthos shivers. 

Treville pauses and pulls back from Aramis's neck. "Son. Do you need me not to touch you?" 

"I — when would I ever bloody *say* that?"

"Son —" 

"Just tell me *why* you suddenly shared — I didn't see that *coming*!" 

"Of course you didn't. I —" Treville gives himself a shake. "I was thinking of your mother while I was randy, son. I..." He smiles ruefully. "There are any number of conversations we've had about your mother that have involved me *thinking* about things like that, no matter what was actually coming out of my mouth." 

Porthos nods thoughtfully. "You've *never* stopped wanting her." 

"She was my mate." 

"I'm um. I don't think I've spent enough time thinking about that," Porthos says, and smiles ruefully. 

"Son, you don't *have* to —" 

"Yeah, I do, Daddy. 'cause I'm in love with you, and you're in love with *me*... I need to know everything it means when you love someone, Daddy. When you *need* someone. Because you mean everything to me." 

Treville whuffs out a breath — 

*Growls* — 

"You mean everything to *me*!" 

"Fuck, Daddy, just — what —" 

And Aramis is gripping Porthos by the beard and tugging him closer. 

Or possibly trying to turn his head?

Or... both?

"Little brother —" 

"Let Daddy bite you now, big brother. It is very settling!" 

Porthos laughs. "I absolutely *want* him to bite me. All *over*. Please don't break my neck, little brother —" 

"I will not! I know just the force to use to do this thing!" 

Treville's cock jerks — 

"*That's* hot — but —" 

"Let him bite *now*. So you *feel* him." 

Treville cups Aramis's hands gently. "Son. You know we're already bound." 

"Yes, but —" Aramis growls, obviously frustrated. "I feel you *more* than he does, Daddy!" 

"You're a spirit-mage —" 

"And he *is* an earth-mage. *I* feel this thing. His *power* is bound. You must free it!" 

And Treville squeezes Aramis's hands — 

"Daddy —" 

— and thinks of Jason. 

Jason, curled in bed with him not long after Porthos had come to him — 

Smiling warmly and *urging* — 

_"Bring him *home*, amant."_

_"I'm *trying* —"_

_"Try harder. You needed him before he was *conceived*."_

_And Treville had laughed painfully —_

_Scrubbed a hand down over his face —_

_*Dreamed* of the powerful, talented, *incredible* young man who was somehow, *somehow* *his*._

_And not his._

_"Try. Harder."_

_"I don't want to chase him *away*. You know he doesn't *feel* everything —"_

_"That you feel, yes," Jason had said, and rolled onto his back, folding his strong, pale hands on his flat, hard stomach. "That *is* curious, you know."_

_"Is it?"_

_"Yes. You're *bound*. You can *feel* precisely how to make him feel *some* of the things you need him to feel — and you should do that *immediately* —"_

_"Jason —"_

_"Yes, yes, you want to be a *good* Daddy. Do keep me posted on how *he* feels about that."_

_"Arse."_

_"Yours, as ever. But my point, amant — there shouldn't be *any* blocks between you. Or on *his* power."_

_"But."_

_"I know what you're thinking. You and your mate were weak before you were augmented; it only makes *sense* for your son to *also* be weak in this way."_

_"*Yes*. He — he would've come into his powers a *decade* ago. *More*."_

_"Unless..."_

_"What?"_

_"Unless there was another nasty little enchantment that needed to be broken," Jason had said, and the words were light, but... the tone wasn't._

_"Jason? What are you saying."_

_And Jason had squeezed his eyes shut. "Amant... we didn't ask that — that *arsehole* of a death-mage enough *questions* before we —"_

_"Before *I* tortured Guillou to insensibility and imprisoned him in my — sword. Shit. *Shit*. Have you seen something in Porthos? Have you *felt* —"_

_"*No*, amant, and I *promise* that I've looked *thoroughly* — both when you introduced us and at more... subtle times —"_

_"*Thank* you —"_

_"But..." And Jason had hissed between his teeth and turned on his side again and rested a hand on Treville's chest. "Guillou was *remarkably* good at *hiding* things. You... you must look for yourself. And *keep* looking. You must never *stop* looking. And you must at least *consider* doing so *after having removed the barriers between you and your son*."_

Porthos grunts — "Did you — did you *not* look?" 

"I did, son. Every day. All the *time*." 

"But not — bloody hell, Daddy, look *again* —" 

"I... I'm not..." 

"*Daddy* —" 

"Give me... just a moment," Treville says, and turns his hand so that his palm is flat to Porthos's chest — 

Opens himself to his power — 

*Reaches* — 

"Fuck — *fuck* —" 

"Yes, Daddy, yes, you see? You see now?" And Aramis is pulling Porthos closer again, crushing himself *between* them — 

And Treville is growling. 

He's — 

He's *growling* — 

Lifting Aramis *aside* — 

"Oh, Daddy —" 

"Just — one moment, son..." Treville says, growling more and *shoving* Porthos down onto his back — 

Porthos is blinking up at him, eyes wide and mouth open — "*What* do you see?" 

"You're in *prison*." 

"What — what do you *mean*?" 

"Guillou did *everything* to keep *both* of you from breaking the enchantment — I should've *seen*. I should've *known* —" 

Porthos reaches up and cups Treville's face — "Just tell me. Just tell me what you *need*." 

"I have to — heal you. *Cleanse* you." 

"What. Yeah? *Do* it!" 

"Son, I'm so *sorry* —" 

"Daddy. You're *never* going to bloody hesitate *again*. Are you." 

Treville whuffs out a breath, snarls, and *opens* himself to the All-Mother while gripping Porthos's shoulders. "*Never*." 

"That's all I *need* — fuck — *fuck* —" 

And Porthos *arches* as every green there is floods in, searches him, cleanses him, *frees* him — 

Treville pets him through it, even though he knows Porthos probably can't feel it. 

Aramis helps, purring soothingly. 

Treville promises himself to put his rapier to *brutal* work *soon*. 

"I will find my Daddy *many* targets," Aramis says. 

"You're a good, good boy, son." 

Aramis purrs more — and undulates as they *both* feel Porthos's own power — so *familiar*, so perfect in Treville's *hands* — 

Bloom. 

Flow all *through* him — 

*Reach* for *both* of them — 

Aramis coils Porthos's power around himself with a spirit-mage's natural deftness. 

Treville strokes and cups and — *grips*, even as the All-Mother flows away from them — 

And urges Porthos to be more careful. 

And to visit.

Porthos gasps and opens his eyes, blinking rapidly... until he grins, bright and wide and beautiful, as always. 

"Son..." 

"I feel... everything."

Treville shivers and *reaches* for Jason — 

(Yes, I *see*, amant... excellent work.) 

I apologize for not listening — 

(Yes, well, you know *better* now,) Jason says — (Oh. Hello there, young man. What can I do for you?) 

Treville blinks —

Checks — 

Aramis is *batting* at the connection between him and Jason. 

And Jason is gently taking that spiritual paw in hand.

His name is Aramis; he's a *spirit-mage* shifter; we're going to murder Richelieu together —

(You *do* like him.) 

I'm hoping he lets me adopt him —

Jason hums. (It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Aramis. My name is Jason Blood —) 

(I know this thing! Please tell me if you beat children!) 

(I... no? No. Why?) 

(Do you rape children? Try to make them stupider?) 

(I never commit rape — unless it is agreed upon with my lover *beforehand* — and it is one of my *vocations* to *end* ignorance in the world. Why —) 

(I would like to learn from you!) 

Treville blinks — 

Feels *Jason* blinking — 

Remembers Jason *telling* him about having to *seduce* nearly every student he's *had* over the centuries — 

And remembers *Aramis*... mm. Jason... the desire to *study* was what *truly* drove Aramis to break the blocks on his shift. 

Jason is still blinking. 

Treville gives him a moment and checks on Porthos — 

Who is laughing and shaking his head. "Jason has to come *here* to teach him, though." 

Treville blinks *again* — 

Imagines the prospect of his home without Aramis for days — 

Weeks and *months* — he growls helplessly — 

Aramis blinks — 

Stares at him with his yellow-brown eyes wide — 

And then pushes close, climbing back on Porthos — 

"Oof — okay both of you is a bit — much —" 

Treville backs up *between* Porthos's legs — 

Aramis keeps crawling on Porthos *toward* Treville — 

"Son —" 

"I will not *leave* you, Daddy! I will not! I am *your* cat!" And Aramis climbs onto Treville's lap, wraps his legs around Treville's waist and *grips* Treville's face so he can scent-mark *aggressively*. 

"Aramis, you — you..."

"Yeah, Daddy, don't even try to say you didn't want *exactly* that reaction," Porthos says, and laughs harder, reaching down to stroke his cock slowly. 

"I — you're an incredibly wise young man, son —" Treville says, gripping Aramis by the hips and nuzzling — 

Licking — 

"And also I *know* you —" 

"And also you — mm — know me —" 

"And also Jason is coming here." 

(And also Jason will be — wait, did either of you *tell* Aramis anything *substantive* about me? The *curses* on me? The demon in my *soul*?) 

Porthos wags his head back and forth. And never stops stroking himself. 

Treville hums. 

(Oh, Osiris's missing *cock* —) 

"Be *easy*, lover," Treville says — 

(*No* —) 

So Treville shares, with Jason, the tableaux Aramis had left in his and Porthos's bedrooms the other night — 

And the hallway — 

He includes the obviously empty spaces in and *on* the bodies...

(Oh, my. He's a *cannibal*?) 

He tried very hard to feed *us* a nourishing breakfast, lover...

(I... will...) 

Be here soon...?

Jason clears his throat. (Etrigan and I will need *some* time to bring certain projects to a close, but —) 

You'll be here soon. 

(I'll be there with bloody, offal-dripping bells on, you *arse*.) 

Aramis purrs and purrs and scent-marks Treville nearly *bruisingly* — 

Porthos laughs *hard* — 

And Treville sends a *deep* kiss along his link with Jason. Until then, lover. 

Jason grumbles bad-naturedly — and dims the link gently and even more slowly than usual. 

Treville hums and goes back to licking Aramis — 

"Hey, Daddy..." 

Mm...?

"Why don't you spread Aramis's arse. Let me *see* his little hole."

Treville grunts and *yanks* Aramis against himself — 

"*Oh* — mm — Daddy. You like this much?" 

"I do, son. I love it when Porthos... wants to share with me. Anything, at all. But this... *lovemaking*..." Treville growls."How do *you* feel about me spreading you?" 

"I show my hole all the time when I am in cat-form!" 

"Oh fuck." 

Treville *chokes* on a laugh. "Right you are, son," he says, and spreads Aramis *wide* — 

"Ai! Oh! That feels different!" 

"We're all very glad about that," Porthos says, wheezing a laugh — 

"No, no, I mean — it feels different from how it felt when the *priests* did it," Aramis says, and scent-marks Treville more — 

*More* — 

"Son... is it all *right*." 

"*Yes*, Daddy. You want *me* in your hands. You want to touch *me* and show *me* to *my* brother, who wants *me*. You do not want a — a *toy*!" 

Treville and Porthos growl *together* — and Porthos's growl is low and flat and... animal. 

Treville's *ears* flatten and his cock jerks *helplessly* — 

Aramis grins and cocks his head and undulates *against* him — "Much better! Much *better*! All is proper, *animal* —" 

"You like that, little brother? Mm? You like the dog in Daddy?" 

"And the dog in *you*, big brother. Do you feel him? Feel him coming to you?"

"I..." And Porthos laughs and gives himself a shake. "I do, yeah. Uh. Daddy?" 

"Not to worry, son. I'll guide you through this," Treville says, and pants with *need*. "You're just going to need some supervision and *assistance* the first few times you try to fuck someone — especially if that someone *isn't* a shifter." 

"Oh, fuck —" 

"I am a shifter!" And Aramis *grinds* against Treville's aching cock. "My big brother will practice with *me*, and then be ready for Athos." 

"*Shit* —" 

Treville laughs and keeps holding Aramis spread nice and wide. "I *thought* you might've had that fantasy before, son..." 

"I... I — *fuck*," Porthos says, and starts stroking himself fast, rough, *hard* — 

"Oh, that's beautiful, son..." And Treville licks his lips — 

Licks Aramis's cheek when he turns — 

"I want to see!" 

"You'll — you'll get your chance, little brother," Porthos says breathlessly. "I'll do this for you *anytime* you want —" 

"Oh — *oh*. *Good*!" 

"Why don't you tell us what you're thinking about, son. *Exactly* what you're thinking about." 

Porthos laughs again. "Aren't — aren't you supposed to be doing the — talking?" 

"You're assuming I won't... help?" 

"Oh — Daddy. Fuck. I'm thinking about Athos —" 

Treville rumbles and licks Aramis's ear — 

"He's — he's using his *mouth* on Aramis —" 

"Oh — how is he —" 

Treville pulls back with a slurp. "Is he licking Aramis's spend off his belly and chest, son?" 

"Oh, fuck —" 

"Mm!" 

"Detouring to mouth and nuzzle at Aramis's small nipples...?" 

"Fuck — fuck —" And Porthos *squeezes* himself — and barks — 

And looks *shocked* — 

"What — I — what was —" 

"Your knot is — slowly — growing in, son. None of us can see it, yet, but I bet you can feel it...?" 

Porthos groans and strokes back down and down to the base of his massive cock — and feels. 

Examines. 

*Squeezes* — and barks as his cock *spits* slick. 

Treville growls. "You feel it." 

Aramis moans, deep in his throat — "I want to feel! I want to play and study and —" 

Porthos grunts and arches — drops. "Please — please keep *talking*, Daddy!" 

"Oh, yes, that, too!" 

Treville lifts his nose — yes, Porthos is close. "You've spent all over Aramis's tight, flexing little hole —" 

"UNGH —" 

"He was showing it off for us. For all of us, pink and pretty, and you couldn't *resist*." 

"*Please*!" And Porthos is stroking fast, *fast* — 

Sweating so — 

His *musk* is so — 

Treville *growls*. "You couldn't resist *marking* him. Athos is staring hungrily at your handiwork while Aramis *undulates* and *wriggles* —" 

Aramis cries out and does just *that*, *working* against Treville's cock — 

Porthos *groans* — 

Aramis *mews* and *sweats* — 

His cock is so *hard* — 

Treville is so *hard* — "Athos asks for *permission* to *taste* —"

"F-*fuck* —" And Porthos *howls* and spurts, all over his own chest and belly — 

So — 

"Oh, son, oh, son, *more* —" 

Porthos *howls* more and — 

"On me! On *me*! *Mark* me, like Daddy said!" Aramis says, and tries to lift his arse even though Treville is *gripping* it — 

"Son — fuck — *Porthos* —" 

Porthos snarls and *aims* — and the last few spatters — 

Aramis gasps — 

Grins maniacally — 

"So hot! So hot and fresh and wild!" 

Treville rumbles while Porthos slumps and stares — 

Treville licks his *lips* — "You smell it, don't you, little one..." 

"Yes!" 

"You smell him *becoming* wild —" 

"For *us*, Daddy, for — oh, Daddy, I need to be *touched* more!" 

Porthos narrows his eyes, still panting. "Yeah, you do. You..." Porthos rumbles. "Daddy, are you going to —" 

"Clean my sons *thoroughly*? Absolutely," Treville says, licking his lips and much of his *face*." 

Aramis laughs and starts trying to wriggle *free* — 

"Right you are, son," Treville says, releasing him — and *scruffing* him — 

"*Ai*!" 

— so he can put Aramis on his hands and knees. 

"Oh, Daddy, I was going to do this *myself*!" 

"A man can't take chances, son," Treville says, and rubs at the base of Aramis's spine — 

"*Mm*!" And Aramis lifts his arse just — 

"Perfect, son —" 

"As an aside, Daddy," Porthos says, turning on his side next to them, "that would probably work on me, too. 

"Probably...?"

"You're just going to have to try it and see," Porthos says, and smiles hotly.

"I can think of all *sorts* of things to... try," Treville says, spreading Aramis's arse again and licking — 

"Oh, yes!" 

Treville growls for the scents — 

The *tastes* — 

His *boys* — 

He growls *more* — "I can no longer think of very many things." 

Porthos laughs hard — 

*Aramis* laughs and *wriggles* — 

Treville squeezes *tight* — 

"*Ahn* —" 

"Be still, son." 

"But —" 

"I'll *reward* you," Treville says, and licks again — 

"Nnh —" 

Again and again — 

"Oh, yes, this — *this* —" 

Licks his little cat *clean* — 

Aramis moans so *throatily* — 

"You make such pretty *sounds*, little brother..." 

"Brrrt?" 

"Uh. Yeah, that one, too, actually," Porthos says, and they're laughing together, breathless and *happy* together — 

And Treville shoves his tongue in — 

Aramis clenches around it and groans, growls, tries to *shove* himself back — 

Be *still*, Treville says — 

(Daddy!) 

"Oh, he's doing you *right*, isn't he..." 

And Porthos sounds so *hungry* — 

"That's 'cause I am, Daddy. Want you, want Aramis, want Athos, want — well, I'm terrified of Jason, but that doesn't mean I don't recognize a good time when I see one —" 

Treville's tongue lengthens without his *permission* — 

"UNH — *Daddy*!" 

Treville is growling *messily*, gripping, *whipping* his tongue and trying to keep *control* — 

"Oh, yeah, Daddy? You liked that thought? You've wanted to *share* me with Jason, maybe...?" And Porthos is moving closer —

Stroking Aramis by the sound of it — 

Stroking over Treville's hands until he can stroke Aramis *more* — "Maybe you wanted to hold me still while he used those *shadows* on me...?"

Treville growls and *fucks* Aramis with his tongue — 

"I! I — *I* want to know — *please* —" 

"What do you want to know, little brother...?" And Porthos *kisses* Aramis — somewhere. "We'll tell you." 

"Please —" 

Treville *sucks* Aramis's little hole because he *has* to — 

"PLEASE! Is Jason a good *lover*!" 

Porthos laughs *filthily*. "I've listened in on *that*..." 

Treville *blinks* — 

"You didn't notice, Daddy...? I bet *he* did." 

(I truly did, amant. Hence my nagging you to be. More. *Honest*.) 

*Fuck* — 

(But do let's ask Porthos for his opinions about my prowess —) 

Treville *growls* — 

Aramis yowls and pants and tries to *writhe* — 

"Oh, little brother, you are so *hot*..." And the sounds of kissing come again. 

Treville is *aching* — 

(And greedy. You're definitely *very* greedy —) 

You love it. 

Jason sighs luxuriantly. (So I do. But... he said I seemed like 'a good time'...) 

Treville growls *more* — 

Aramis writhes and yowls into Porthos's *mouth* — 

Jason is *laughing* at him — 

(Daddy, are you being possessive back there?) 

... no? I — 

(Did you want to keep us all to *yourself*, Daddy...?) 

I...

Jason is laughing *harder* — 

Aramis laughs and purrs — "Daddy is the *big* dog! All will show — show proper *respect*." 

Mm. Well. About that... And Treville sucks *hard* on Aramis's hole — 

Aramis stiffens and yowls again — out into the air this time. 

Good boy, Treville says, and goes back to fucking him slowly and *relentlessly* — and... shares.

_Treville is tied — the shadows have him flat on his belly, spread-eagle on his own bed while he sweats and croons and pants and —_

_"Jason, *please* —"_

_"Please what...?"_

_"Please *fuck* me!"_

_"Hm... have you been keeping yourself ready for me, amant...?"_

_And Treville laughs. "I've been dutifully fucking absolutely no one and wondering when I got to be an old man, if that's what you mean —"_

_"Old — I should fuck your *cock* for that."_

_"Nngh — yes. Yes, you should. If, of course, that is your *pleasure*."_

_"*Arse*."_

_Treville waggles his eyebrows. They're almost the only part of his body he *can* move. "Yours, lover. *Have* me. *Please*."_

_Jason growls like a beast, like something from nowhere on this *earth* — and crawls onto the bed._

_"Yes —"_

_"Tell me you want it *hard*, amant..."_

_"I want it hard. I want it *vicious*. I want *you* — *HNGH* —" And that's a *slick* shadow opening him, opening him wide and — "Why, Jason, are you feeling impatient?"_

_Jason *laughs* —_

_And then the shadow gets *bigger*, and Treville is *howling* —_

_"Beg for more."_

_"Please!"_

_"Be specific."_

_"Please, more! Please — please work me open so — oh, fuck, Jason, it's *huge* —"_

_"And you *will* take it," Jason says, and *claws* down Treville's back. "Keep begging."_

_"Please *fuck* me. Please give me — give me *your* cock. Your hot — so hot — I need it!"_

_Jason pants —_

_*Pants* —_

_"Do you ache, amant...?"_

_"For *you*. Ah, fuck, Jason, you're always gone too bloody *long*. Please *fuck* —" And then he's howling again because Jason is *yanking* the shadow out none too gently —_

_Bloody *perfectly* —_

_"Please! *Please*!"_

_"*Yes*," Jason says, and sinks in, sinks *deep* —_

_Covers him completely —_

_Bites the back of his *neck* just to make the dog in him *buck* — *try* to buck, because they can't bloody *move* —_

_Jason laughs into Treville's skin and *grinds* in —_

_*In* —_

_Treville croons —_

_Aches and *clenches* just to get —_

_Jason growls again and *thrusts* —_

_"*Yes*!"_

_"I — I suppose you *have* been a good *enough* boy —" And Jason growls *more* and fucks him hard, *hard* —_

_"*Thank* you, Jason, *thank* you —"_

_"*Fuck* —" And Jason bites him again —_

_Again and *again* —_

_Takes his *blood* —_

_Renews and *deepens* their shared *corruption* —_

_And Treville is burning, aching, panting and *grinning* —_

_It's so good —_

_So *deep* —_

_Every bite, every *thrust* —_

_"You're *mine*!"_

_"*Yes* —"_

_"Say it!"_

_And he means to, he *does*, but Jason is fucking him harder *and* faster, and all that's coming out of him are *ecstatic* barks —_

_Wheezed and *needy* barks —_

_He can't *think* —_

_"That's — that's *quite* all right. I understand *perfectly*," Jason says, and there's a shadow around Treville's cock —_

_Teasing and *threatening* the slit —_

_Treville croons a *plea* —_

_Jason pushes *in* with his cock and the shadow at once —_

_Treville *howls* and feels his spend stopped, changed, *twisted* —_

_"You'll spend when I — when I *want* you to," Jason says, and bites him again, rutting hard and fast and selfishly, *perfectly* —_

_Treville rumbles and *takes* it, just *takes* it, flexing open *wide* —_

_"Fuck — *amant* —" And Jason snarls and shoves *in*, spurting deep in Treville's arse —_

_Filling him —_

_Filling him so —_

_Treville rumbles and rumbles and *barks* more when his cock jerks —_

_When he feels that shadow *opening* his cock —_

_Fuck fuck —_

_And then Jason laughs *evilly* and pulls out. "Time to play," he says, and the shadows loosen just enough that he can pull Treville's cock back out between his legs —_

_And he strokes —_

_And he massages —_

_And he *squeezes* —_

_And Treville is tossing his head and howling, sobbing, *screaming* out howls —_

_Over and *over* —_

_He feels his body *trying* to spend —_

_He can't —_

_He *can't*, and he can't stop *howling*._

_He's helpless, arse flexing and spend leaking down and down, and the picture he must make —_

_"You're beautiful, as ever..."_

_Treville blushes and *sobs* again —_

_Shudders and sniffles and — "Jason, *please*!"_

_"Almost, amant. Almost..."_

_"I —"_

_And then he's *screaming*, because Jason is squeezing *hard* — and shoving his *demon*-tongue *all* the way up Treville's arse, tasting and working and —_

_And Treville shudders and aches and —_

_Sobs and tries to writhe, tries to *claw* at the sheets, tries to —_

_No, he *can* clench, but that just makes him feel Jason's thick, slick tongue more, makes his wide-open cock *jerk* more —_

_He sobs and *howls*, shaking all over, smelling his own sweat and his own slick and his own *need* —_

_Jason fucks him *faster* —_

_Treville stiffens and *screams* a howl —_

_(Now, amant.)_

_Treville's eyes fly open *wide* —_

_Jason *yanks* the shadow out of Treville's cock —_

_Squeezes *again* —_

_And Treville howls himself *hoarse* as he spurts and spurts and *spurts*._

"Yeah, that sounds like what I heard," Porthos says. "Though Jason was laughing evilly more." 

(Did you *like* that, Porthos?) 

"Well, like I said, you're *terrifying* — but that isn't a *hard* no." 

(I'm *very* glad to hear that.) 

Treville laughs into Aramis's arse — 

"MEE!"

You were too quiet, son. 

"I — I — am thinking!" 

Treville slips his tongue out and kisses Aramis's hole *gently*. "About what, son...?" 

"You — you — nnh. I want your tongue back!" 

"Right now?" 

"Please don't —" And Aramis does his best to *shove* his arse back against Treville's face. 

*Violently*. 

There are kicks involved — 

"You're a wonderful communicator, son," Treville says, mostly *into* Aramis's arse — 

"MM!" 

Porthos is laughing hard — 

(I'm definitely curious as to what you're thinking about, though,) Jason says. 

We all are, Treville says, and makes *love* to Aramis's hole, wet and sloppy, wet and *dirty* — 

"Nah! Rrrt!" 

"We always want to know what you're thinking, love," Porthos says. "Take that as a given." 

Exactly, son, Treville says, and suckles at the furled skin, pushes *deep* — 

Aramis pants and clenches — 

And clenches — 

Yowls down the *house* — 

*Good* boy... 

(Very good...) And Treville can *feel* Jason licking his lips — 

"Can't wait for my turn," Porthos says. "What do you say, love? Am I allowed to taste your little hole? Get you nice and clean? I promise I'll do a *thorough* — *nnh*, fuck you've got a hard grip — yeah, stroke me, get me *good* and hard again —" 

Aramis growls and writhes in place, growls and mews and *clenches* — 

Yowls *again* — 

"Fuck fuck — *work* my cock, love —" 

"I — I — YES!" 

And the sound is unmistakable, the rhythm is *harsh* — 

"Oh — *fuck* — your calluses are *amazing*, I — *fuck* —" 

Well, he has been *walking* on those hands, son...

"UNH —" 

Treville laughs *hard* and cups *Aramis's* cock — 

Aramis growls his way *through* a yowl — 

Jason pants and *stares* — 

*Heavily* — 

(Are you *complaining*?) 

Not at all, lover. You know I love the feel of the atmosphere growing close and thick and impenetrably eldritch. Feels homey. 

(You *arse* —) 

"Don't listen to — to Daddy, Jason. He's just mad because he doesn't have a paw on *his* cock." 

"Brrt!" 

"No, don't shift now! Please!" 

*Jason* laughs hard — 

Treville *wiggles* his tongue and strokes Aramis *off*, fast and rough and just a little *mean* — 

And it quickly grows impossible to keep Aramis completely still, so Treville *lets* him ride his face — 

"Yes! *YES*! Oh, Daddy, I —" And the rest of that is the sort of yowl that Treville *used* to find enervating, in the dim, dead past of a few days ago as Aramis bucks and spurts, musk deepening and sweetening and spend slick and *hot* on Treville's fingers. 

Treville growls into his arse and works him, *works* him — 

Works him as he mews and pants and shudders — 

Works him until he's *dry* — 

And then brings his sticky hand back — 

"I'll just be taking that," Porthos says, *gripping* Treville's wrist — and licking his fingers. 

Treville *grunts* — 

*Kisses* Aramis's hole — 

Pulls back and strokes Aramis's slick, sweaty skin with his free hand while watching Porthos watch *him* over Treville's own sticky fingers. 

Fuck. "Sons..."

Aramis mutters into the sheets. And wriggles. His hand is curled *loosely* around Porthos's cock, and — 

And Porthos *slurps* his way off two of Treville's fingers. "What can we do for you, Daddy...?" 

"I... don't." Treville licks his musky lips and blushes and smiles. "I haven't the faintest idea what I did to deserve this, but I promise you both that I will be *worth* you." 

(It might have *something* to do with you being a wonderful person. You *arse*.) 

Treville *coughs* — 

Porthos snorts — 

And Aramis purrs and rolls onto his back, wriggling and scenting the bed with his fresh musk. 

Which. 

(If you could just... breathe a *bit* more deeply?) 

Treville sniffs Aramis *thoroughly* for Jason — and himself, nearly dragging his nose through the spend on Aramis's belly and chest while Aramis arches helpfully — 

Burying his face in against Aramis's throat while he purrs and tilts his head away— 

Nuzzling his *cheeks* — 

"Oh, yes, Daddy, *mm* —" 

He kisses Aramis firmly, and as much like a man as he can manage, between those canines and his own nature — 

And Aramis gives it back *exactly* like he was studying Porthos's kisses as much as taking them. 

Good boy... 

(Thank you, Daddy!) 

(Yes, thank you *very* much.) 

Treville pulls back with a *lick* — 

And then turns and buries his face in Porthos's crotch. 

(Oh, my...) 

"Oh fuck. Uh." 

"Is that a no, son?" 

"You're *sniffing* me. Of bloody *course* it's not a — oh, fuck, do you like it, Daddy?"

Treville growls and *licks* Porthos's cock — 

"HNH —" And Porthos grips Treville's wrist *hard* — 

*Immediately* loosens his grip — 

"Sorry — sorry —" 

"Shh," Treville says, kneeling up and gently pushing Porthos down onto his back before tugging his wrist free. "All is well." 

"I just — I don't want you to get the wrong *idea*, Daddy," Porthos says, and laughs hard again. 

Treville lolls his tongue — for a moment. "No interest in mounting your father, son?" 

"Oh my *God* — do you *want* me to? Is that all right with *Jason*?" 

(Be nice to your son, amant. I like him better than you.) 

Treville snickers and *coughs* — "I. Hm." 

"You're an *arse*, Daddy —" 

"That I am, that I am, and speaking of —" 

"Oh, God —" 

"Everything with you, son. Everything. And nothing at all that you don't want," Treville says *firmly*, and pins Porthos with a look. 

"I — no?" 

"No." 

Porthos licks his lips and nods thoughtfully. "I did already know that..." 

"Yes?" And Treville urges him to spread his legs. 

"Oh... yeah. Please. *Please*." 

Treville rumbles and strokes Porthos's inner thighs. "Tell me what you knew, son. Tell me everything." 

Porthos moans and sits up on his elbows — "I knew you'd always take care of *any* lover you had. That you'd be..." He licks his lips and shakes his head. "I knew *anyone* in your hands would have anything they *needed*." 

Treville winces with *hunger*. "Son..." 

"Yeah, Daddy. I'm yours. For *whatever* you want. Just — *please* talk about it. A *lot*," Porthos says, and laughs —

And reaches for his own cock again — 

But Aramis knocks his hand aside and lies down *mostly* atop him, purring loudly and rubbing his musk right in. 

Porthos laughs more — "Fuck, you smell good, love —" 

"I am your love? This is good! Pet me!" 

"Right, but — I was going to —" 

"Keep those hands busy, son," Treville says, and reaches to pull the pot of oil from his bedside table. 

"Fuck — *yes* —" 

"It's time for you to start getting what you want." 

"Please, Daddy —" 

"What you *need*," Treville says, slicking his fingers and raising his eyebrows. 

"I *do* need it," Porthos says, stroking Aramis's back with one hand and petting his hair with the other. "I fuck myself *hard* thinking of you —" 

Treville growls. "Spread your legs wider." 

"Oh fuck — yeah —" And Porthos obeys — 

"Do you ever use toys, son?" And Treville warms the oil on his fingers as quickly as he can — 

"Fuck, Daddy, *yeah*." 

Treville *pants* — "Tell me. Tell me everything." 

"Wood and leather. *Rough* —" 

"*Son*." 

"I *love* it —" 

Treville *snarls* — no. No. "Is that how you like to be *treated*, son. This... is a very important question." 

Porthos pants and — croons. And looks shocked to have done it. 

Treville strokes his thigh with his other hand. "It's all right, son. You're just losing a little control. Everything's fine." 

"Daddy..." 

"When you lose control of the man — *however* you do it — the dog *will* come out." 

"I —" 

"Yes, and it is *good*," Aramis says, crawling up Porthos's body to bury his nose in Porthos's armpit. 

"Oh — fuck, love —" And Porthos wraps his arms around Aramis and squeezes tight — 

"No, no, more petting!" 

Porthos laughs. "All right, all right, anything you say," Porthos says, and strokes Aramis while he wriggles and sniffs — 

Licks — 

Porthos laughs *more* — "That *tickles*, love —" 

Aramis licks more *assiduously* — 

Porthos *snorts* and moves Aramis's head to a different part of his armpit. "I have to be able to answer Daddy's *questions*." 

"Oh, this is so," Aramis says, and nuzzles, instead. 

"Mm, that's — wait, you're distracting me!" 

"It was working!" 

Porthos snickers hard. "Daddy, were you just going to *let* him?" 

(He *is* an arse, Porthos.) 

Treville smiles ruefully. "I *may* be a little... hungry, son." 

Porthos *grunts*, cock jerking — "Just — just *say* —" 

"I want you happy. I *need* you happy and *relaxed*." 

"Then — then — don't talk about *my* dog. Yet. All right?" 

Treville raises an eyebrow — and then nods. "My dog only." 

"Fuck. Fuck, Daddy, I've dreamed of your dog..." 

"Having you, son? And lift up — there," Treville says, and uses his dry hand to put a pillow under him. 

He's going to have a *hard* time surrendering the case to be laundered... 

Porthos and Aramis laugh at him — 

Jason hums with *relish* — 

And Treville licks his lips — and face. 

"Maybe you should taste me *first*, Daddy..." 

Treville pauses. 

Wonders if the All-Mother has started granting boons in entirely different *ways* — 

Porthos *splutters* — 

And Treville winks and *darts* in, spreading Porthos wide and licking — 

And *licking* — 

Oh, his *sweat* — 

Treville groans and *croons* — 

Porthos is *shaking* — 

*Gasping* — and laughing more. 

Son...? 

"Did you — did you somehow think I *didn't* want this?"

(Just assume your father assumes *no* one wants him to touch them in *any* way —)

*Hey* — 

(Am I *wrong*?) 

I — he's my *son*!

"Daddy, I'm getting — getting really close to *smacking* you again —" 

Son — 

(He deserves it.) 

"Yeah, but — oh, fuck, Daddy — uh. I'm worried it would get in the way of me getting *pounded*."

Treville shoves his tongue *deep* — 

Porthos howls — 

Treville waits for Porthos to *finish* howling, and then says: It really wouldn't, son. 

"Oh — oh, good — smack him, Aramis —" 

"Yes, big brother!" And Aramis smacks the *hell* out of him —

Treville's *head* is ringing — 

(Did you forget that cats are *phenomenally* powerful in proportion to their body size, amant?) 

Um.

(Even *before* they become shifters?) 

I...

(How *did* a spirit-mage get to be a shifter? Have you asked?) 

"MROW." And Aramis is doing his best to smack Jason through the link — 

(Oh, dear. We'll just revisit that later.) 

"Probably a good plan, that," Porthos says, and, "Come on back, Aramis, let me pet you some more." 

"Oh — yes! But —" And Aramis turns fully and peers down at Treville. "Daddy, *did* I hit you too hard?" 

Treville slips his tongue *out* of Porthos — 

"*Fuck* —" 

"No, son. Just hard enough for me to learn my lesson," Treville says, and smiles. 

(You *never* learn your lesson!) 

I've learned it so well this time that, as soon as you get here, I'm going to have the All-Mother help me bind you into a *convenient* position and then fuck you *hard* — 

(*Fuck* —) 

And *then* I'll knot you — 

(*Amant* —) 

And once I've filled you with my spend and my knot is just as swollen as it can be? Once you're *trapped* and *tied*?

(I — I — yes?) 

I'm going to *tell* you what your new living situation is going to be, Jason. Right. Here. 

Jason *grunts*. (Treville...) 

It's time, lover. It's *past* time. And we *both* know it. 

Jason... caresses him. (It's a strange thing when the dog calls the man to heel...) 

You're more than any man. You always have been — 

(I —) 

Even when *you* didn't know it. 

Jason inhales. (I suppose I'll just... take that.) 

Yes. You will, Treville says, and looks up into Aramis's wide and fascinated eyes. Do what you need to do, Jason. Finish what you need to *finish*. But *get* here. *Soon*. I need you. We all do. 

(Amant —) 

I'm yours. 

Treville feels Jason shiver through the link — (I will always be yours, amant,) he says, and pulls back, slowly and gently. 

Treville caresses him as he goes — and then pushes up to nuzzle Aramis's beautiful face — 

"Oh — such musk!" Aramis purrs and purrs and shares with him, rubbing especially hard against Treville's beard. 

"Oh, *fuck*, that's so — Daddy, *please* —" 

"Right you are, son," Treville says, and licks Aramis's cheek. "Go back to teasing your brother." 

"Yes, Daddy!" And Aramis turns and crawls right back up Porthos's body, straddling his *chest* — 

"Right, well, I have all the ideas in the world right now." 

"Do you, son?" 

"I really think Aramis should be sitting on my *face*." 

Aramis gasps and moves *immediately* — 

"Oh, *yeah*, just — let me get my hands on your hips, like — so. Yeah, just ease your way down — mm. Mmph. *Mmmm* —" 

Aramis pants and *shudders* as Porthos suckles his bollocks — 

And Treville has *wonderful* work to do. 

(That you do, Daddy...)

Should I kiss your hole, son?

(Uh...) 

Should I be... mm. Tender and sweet?

Porthos shivers and arches up — 

*Offers* himself — 

And that answers the earlier question, too. Treville *nuzzles* in and licks, laps, kisses up and down Porthos's cleft —-

My boy doesn't need to be hurt *all* the time... 

(No... no, Daddy...) 

You just need something hard... sometimes, Treville says, and kisses Porthos's hole over and over again — 

(Please!) 

Suck those bollocks and answer me, son. 

Porthos slurps *loudly* — 

Aramis purrs, open-mouthed and joyful — 

His musk is almost *twining* through the air with Porthos's — 

Treville is all but *drunk* on both of them — 

But he's going to keep his control.

And *take* control. 

He *growls* against Porthos's hole — 

(Fuck — I'm sorry, Daddy, I'm sorry —) 

Shh. Just tell me. Tell me when you need something hard. 

(When I'm — when I'm aching for you. When I've had your hands on me, or you've been giving me the dog's kisses, but I know I still can't have you *inside* me —) 

And Treville is *gripping* Porthos's thighs — 

Holding them spread *wide* — 

(Oh, yeah, Daddy, *yeah* —) 

Treville is *sucking* kisses to that *hole* — 

(Daddy — *Daddy* —) 

You can *always* have me!

Porthos *whines* around his mouthful — 

Aramis mews — "Please! I want my cock touched!" 

*Suck* his cock, Porthos. 

(Have to — have to just *move* him a little —) 

"Ai! Yes! *Yes* —" 

(Oh, fuck, he's kneading my *forehead* —) 

Make him lose his ability to *do* that, son. 

(*Yes*, Daddy!) And Porthos hums and makes — 

So many dirty noises — 

So many wet and hot and *perfect* — 

Treville makes his own, sucking at Porthos's hole and slipping his tongue in — 

And out — 

And in just a little — 

Making Porthos croon around Aramis's cock and *quiver* — 

Aramis growls and pants — 

Treville sucks *hard* — 

Porthos *shouts* and tries to *close* his legs — 

And for a frightening moment, Treville can't let him. Can't — 

(*Don't* let me! Do *everything* —) 

"Yes, yes, *everything*!" 

(Oh, fuck, yeah, love, *fuck* me —) 

"Big brother! Big — rrrowl — I cannot stop!" 

And it's necessary to *help* Aramis fuck Porthos, to reach for Aramis until he can *feel* the ragged rhythm he's using to slam into Porthos's perfect mouth — 

And take it for himself. 

*Use* it to fuck his beautiful arse, his sweet-musky *arse* — 

Fuck him slick and wet and *deep* — 

Porthos is crooning and crooning and *trembling* — 

Splaying himself *wide* — 

You want everything. Don't you, son.

(I want — I want everything right *now*, Daddy!) 

You want me to fuck you just like *this*. 

(Yes, please! Please!) 

You want me to shove your knees up to your chest — 

(Oh fuck — *God* —) 

(— and push my cock in *deep* —) 

Porthos *chokes* on Aramis's cock — 

Immediately slurps and gulps and takes it *back* — 

Aramis mews and mews *helplessly* and gives him a new, harder, more *vicious* rhythm — 

Treville gives him the same — 

(*Daddy*!)

Spend for us, son. Spend all over your belly and let your Daddy lick. It. Up. I want to taste it. Smell it. Rub it all over my muzzle — 

Porthos stiffens and arches and spurts, just like that, just — 

So bloody *perfectly* — 

Treville fucks him through it, squeezes his powerful thighs and *takes* him through it — 

Aramis can't *help* what he's doing — 

He's started to yowl — 

Porthos is groaning in his *chest* — 

Shuddering and clenching and *flexing* around Treville's tongue as he *continues* to spurt — 

Good boys — 

Good *boys*. 

Treville *grips* them both spiritually — 

Makes them *feel* him — 

(*Fuck*!) 

Aramis yowls *hungrily* — 

Treville scruffs them and pushes them *down* — 

Porthos clenches hard and spurts *more* — 

And Aramis *chokes* on a yowl and *fills* the room with the scents of his musk and spend as he spurts right into Porthos's mouth. 

Treville hums and kisses Porthos's hole gently. Good boys...

(Uhh...) 

And then Treville pulls back and kneels up to watch Aramis gripping Porthos's curls like reins as he slams in again — 

Again — 

Again and *again* — 

Porthos has moved him back to his chest — 

He's mewing almost *piteously* — 

His musk is so *high* — 

(I'm drowning in it, Daddy. 's bloody perfect.) 

"That it is, son," Treville says, and licks his buzzing lips as he watches Aramis finally slump — 

And purr *dazedly* — 

And detach his shaking hands from Porthos's hair only to *pet* Porthos clumsily —

And then he rolls off Porthos's chest back onto the other side of the bed. 

And... rolls. 

And wriggles. 

And purrs. 

And rolls more — 

And generally makes Treville's bed smell even more wonderful. 

"Yeah, you're going to have to be *firm* with me to get me out of here tonight, Daddy." 

"You were planning on *leaving*?" 

Porthos grins, bright and wide and wonderful. "Mostly I was hoping to *tempt* you to be firm in uh. Other ways." 

Treville growls and gets a little more oil on his fingers. "Knees up." 

"Fuck —" Porthos obeys *immediately* — 

"You want me to be hard on you right *now*. Don't you." 

"Oh fuck — Daddy, I — do you *see* how hard I still am?" 

"I see you getting harder, son. Answer me." 

"Please yes! Please be hard on me — you're such a hard *man*." 

"Am I, son...?" And Treville *rubs* at that sensitized hole with his most-callused fingertips — 

"HNH — you're the — the *hardest* — you're so *big*." 

The urge to give Porthos — his *magnificent* Porthos — a *look* for that... doesn't belong here. The simple fact of the matter is that he *has* managed to be big, and hard, and *impressive* to his son — despite also being entirely himself. 

The fact of the matter is — and perhaps it's time to admit this — that he's something of an impressive *dog*. 

"*Yes*, Daddy! Please! *Please*!" 

Treville rumbles a growl. "You're going to make me need to fuck you hard, son..." 

Porthos grunts and tries to push down onto Treville's fingers — 

"Be *still*. Tell me if you want the hard *fuck*." 

"Yes, Daddy — sorry —" 

"Shh. Just tell me," Treville says, and rubs harder — 

*Rougher* — 

Porthos groans and *sweats* — "Daddy, I — I — I want you to fuck me through the *floor*." 

Treville snarls and pushes in with two fingers — 

"Ah — oh, fuck — oh, fuck, *yeah* —" 

"Are you flexible enough to get your own fingers this deep, son?" 

"N-no —" 

"Do you try anyway?" 

"All the bloody time!" And they're laughing together, they — 

"Good boy. Good *son*." 

"Saw what you had in your *trousers*, Daddy — I — I wanted to make myself *ready* for it —" 

Treville starts fucking Porthos *helplessly* — 

"Unh — unh — *ungh* — yeah, Daddy, *please* —" 

"Faster, son?" 

"Anything you want!" 

And Treville... sweats. "You want me to control this... utterly." 

Porthos meets Treville's gaze, and his eyes are wide, dark, full, *blown*. "Yeah. Please."

Treville licks his lips and *pants*. "Pull your right leg back to your chest. Hold it *tight*." 

"Yeah — *yeah* —" 

"Perfect," Treville says and *twists* his fingers — 

"*Fuck*!" 

"Take it, son." 

"Yes, Daddy!"

And Treville thrusts and thrusts and twists — 

Thrusts and twists — 

Twists and thrusts and twists — 

Porthos whines and sweats and *shakes* — 

And Aramis crawls over beside Tréville, still purring in his throat, and stares avidly at what Treville is doing. "Two fingers, Daddy? To start?" 

"For an experienced lover who's already relaxed and hungry for it, son. Everyone else? One." 

Aramis nods thoughtfully and pets Porthos's left thigh and belly. And watches. 

Porthos whines more — 

*More* — 

"Don't you think you should open up for me, son?" 

"Oh *fuck* —" And Porthos flexes open *wide* — 

"Good boy," Treville says, and thrusts hard, fast — 

"HNGH —" 

Porthos's cock is dripping on his belly — 

Aramis reaches to taste — and continues to watch. 

Well enough. 

"Is this what you wanted, son?" 

"Daddy — *Daddy* —" 

"Answer me." 

"Fuck, it's so — it's your *fingers*!" 

"*Fucking* you, son." 

Porthos clenches and *croons*, squeezing his eyes shut — 

Clenches so *hard* — 

"Daddy, please — please —" 

"*Open*." 

"Hnh —" And Porthos flexes right open. 

"*Good* boy," Treville says, crooking *up* — 

Porthos *howls* — 

His cock *spits* slick — 

And Aramis swipes some up for *Treville* to taste. 

"Thank you *very* much, son," Treville says and laps and laps and *nips* — 

Aramis *pants* — 

And Treville rumbles a promise to Aramis before turning back to Porthos. "Son. Is this what you *wanted*," he says, and crooks again — 

"*Yes*! Fuck — *fuck* — please open me more!" 

"Mm. You're absolutely right, son. I've never been *much* of a tease. Let's get you a little looser." 

"Yeah — yeah, I —" 

"You're *going* to get my cock —" 

"*Fuck* —" 

"You're going to get it *hard*, son." 

"Please fuck — *yes*!" 

"You're going to get *everything* you need from me —" 

"Daddy —" 

"There you are," Treville says, twisting his fingers and *screwing* in — 

In — 

*In* — Porthos is crooning and panting, but not shaking. Not *trembling*. 

Treville licks his lips. "Time for another finger, son." 

"Yes, Daddy!" 

"You're doing so well for me, son," Treville says, and gives his cock a nice, hard stroke. "You're being such a good boy for me." 

Porthos croons *desperately*, flexing open *wide* — 

"There's my boy. Take your treat," Treville says, and pushes — 

Right — 

In. 

And Porthos is panting — practically *blowing*. 

His eyes are *wide* — 

His eyes are *dazed* — 

His cock is jerking over and over again — 

But he's staying wide open for now. 

"Oh, son... you're making me *ache*." 

"Daddy — Daddy, I want to make you feel *better* —" 

"You will, son. You'll make me feel... so good," Treville says, and crooks with all three fingers — 

Porthos arches and *howls* — 

Clenches and flexes over and *over* — 

"This is normal, Daddy? This pleasure?" 

"When someone competent is doing the opening," Treville says, and works that pleasure-button *sweetly* — 

Porthos howls more — and his cock is changing more obviously. 

"To be fair, there are people who never do come to enjoy this sort of thing." 

"Yes?" 

"Mm. You may very well be one of them, son —" 

"No! I *will* enjoy it!" 

"Son —" 

"I want you to — to —" 

"Daddy, *yes*!" 

"*That*! I want you to that!" 

Treville rumbles and eases Porthos right back down to the pillow. "We'll try everything we all *want* to try, Aramis. And then we'll try it a few more times to make sure we get it *right*." 

"Good!" 

"Play with Porthos's growing knot, son. A little bit gently."

"Yes, Daddy!" And Aramis cups it in both hands and begins to *knead* — 

Porthos *chokes* on a howl — 

Leaks slick all *over* his belly — 

And opens *wide*. 

"Good, perfect boys," Treville says, and starts to *fuck* Porthos with his fingers, starts to work him with them, starts to — 

Oh, his boy is so hot inside, so sleek and open and *ready* — 

Almost. 

Almost. 

Treville's had a generation to learn the relative size of his knot. He hasn't forgotten. 

And he hasn't forgotten what Porthos *needs*. 

So he crooks his fingers *gently* while he fucks him, eases him open and just — 

"Oh, son, I'm dreaming of *reaming* you...." 

Porthos sobs and *croons* — 

Tries to spread his legs wider — 

*Shakes* — 

"I'm dreaming of *covering* you and giving you *everything*. And I know you'll take it," Treville says and fucks him faster, just a little — 

And Porthos is grunting, wordless, *sobbing* — 

Aramis is *massaging* his knot — 

Porthos's eyes have rolled *up* — 

"Will you spend for me again, son? Even before I sink my cock into your perfect arse?"

Porthos clenches *hard* — 

"Why don't you hold on, mm? Hold on for your Daddy." 

Porthos whines and whimpers and whines *more* — 

"Shh, it's all right. I just want you to spend on my *cock*, son. You can do that for me." 

Porthos clenches even harder — 

Sobs and tosses his *head* — 

Sniffles and bites his lip — 

"Aramis, son, move your perfect hands to Porthos's shaft." 

Aramis mews and obeys, pausing to lick his palms once and once before getting back to it — 

"Good boy. Now. Porthos. You know I'll take care of you," Treville says, and fucks in and *in* — 

"Daddy — D-Daddy —" 

"Say it." 

"I know you'll — take care of me!" 

"You know I'll give you *everything*. Say it." 

"I know you'll give me everything! Please! *Please*!" 

"Tell me you'll hold on. Make me a *promise*." 

"Oh, *shit* — I promise! I *promise*!" 

"Good *boy*. Here," Treville says, stopping his thrusts and pushing with the fourth finger — 

"God — *God* —" 

"Brrt!" 

"This won't take long, boys," Treville says, and he's panting now, licking his lips *constantly*. "Just have to stretch Porthos a *little* bit more." 

"ANYTHING!" 

"*Good* boy," Treville says. "*Everything* is what you deserve." And he pushes — 

Pushes slowly, carefully — 

He has to give his boy what he *needs* — 

Porthos is shuddering and beating at the bed — and then he stops, reaches down, and helps to spread his own arse. 

"Oh, son. You're so *beautiful*..." 

Porthos gasps — 

Gasps again — 

"Daddy — *in* me!" 

"*Yes*," Treville says, and pushes *deep*, *stuffs* his boy with his fingers — 

Porthos howls again — 

Aramis is somewhat *goggle*-eyed — 

And Treville is panting hard and feeling his boy *try* to clench, try and *fail* and — 

And the way that will feel on his knot... 

Treville snarls, reaches down, and *yanks* on his own bollocks, more to give himself control than to keep himself from spending. He feels a *little* less like shifting right now... 

A little. 

He still has to lean in and lick and lap at the spend and slick on Porthos's belly, nuzzle and sniff — 

Grind in with his beard and *slowly* start to thrust — 

To *work* his *son* — 

And Porthos is crooning, sobbing more — 

His cheeks are wet — 

His cock is so *hard*, so slick and so — 

His eyes are — 

He doesn't see anything in this room. 

Treville will change that soon. 

For now — he just needs to open his boy. 

Just — 

Thrust and twist — 

Thrust and *crook* — 

Thrust and thrust and *in*, just *in*, work past every bit of resistance until his son is quivering for him again, until he's slick with sweat and oil and his own fluids, until he's open, so open — 

*Almost* — 

So — 

Treville crooks again — 

*Again* — 

Porthos shudders — and clumsily, inexpertly, shares his *ache* — 

His *need* for Treville — 

His need for Treville to fuck him hard and fast and just — 

"*Almost*, son —" 

Porthos croons again and nods, tries to spread wider again, tries to *arch* again — 

"*Down*." 

Porthos grunts and drops and flexes open that tiny bit he *can* — 

"Perfect, you're perfect —" Treville growls and gives him the twisting thrusts again — 

Again and again and *again* — 

And now Aramis is regularly switching hands so that he can lick and suck one clean and then the other — 

And Porthos is — ready. 

Porthos *grunts*, mid-croon — 

Obviously *tries* to focus on Treville — 

Whines like a *pup* — 

"Shh, shh, just relax, son. It's time," Treville says, pulling out carefully and grabbing for the linen. He wipes his hand, oils it again, slicks his cock, urges Aramis to move to Porthos's side — and doesn't wait one moment more. He presses the tip of his cock to Porthos's wide-open hole and *barks* for attention. 

Both of his sons focus beautifully. 

Treville grins... and pushes deep. 

Porthos grips the sheets with his free hand and gasps — 

Grunts and gasps *more* — 

"You feel me, son...?" 

"*Daddy*!" 

"You're so hoarse..." Treville rumbles. "That's just going to get worse," he says, and *thrusts*, all the way in to his knot — 

"UNGH — I feel — I *feel* —" 

"You feel *me*. And you'll spend when I tell you to," Treville says, and shoves Porthos's other thigh back, too — 

"Daddy — *fuck* —" 

"You need *this*, son. You need me to *pound* you," Treville says, and fucks hard — 

*Hard* — 

"You need me to put you in your *place* —" 

"Shit — I'll *spend*!" 

"You *won't*," Treville says, and yanks on Porthos's bollocks — 

Porthos *screams* a howl — "Thank you! *Thank* you!" 

"You're welcome," Treville says, and fucks Porthos faster, fucks him so — 

He gives his boy the long strokes he just couldn't give *any* lover for *years* after he was first bound — 

The long strokes his *dog* doesn't give a *damn* about — but he does. 

Oh, he needs this. 

He needs this so *badly* — 

"Daddy — I love it! I love *you*!" 

Treville snarls and *claws* down the backs of Porthos's thighs — 

Porthos bucks and howls again — 

Clenches *tight* — 

"*Yeah* — oh, *yeah* — *fuck* —" 

But the thrusts are getting shorter — 

His body — and the dog — are making *demands*. 

And Treville has learned — the hard way — to *listen* to those demands. 

He snarls again — "Spread your *arse*." 

"HNH — *yes*, Daddy!" And Porthos obeys, gives himself over, gives himself so *right* — 

And Treville can't even pause. 

He's just pushing, just — 

Just *rocking* — 

One little shove of his knot after another after *another*, and Porthos is gasping and wild-eyed with shock, with *thrill* that's filling Treville's senses and making his cock *spasm* deep in Porthos's arse. 

It's so good, so *sweet*, and there's the usual *need* to stay right there and feel every bit of it, feel the clenching and *flexing* around his *knot* — 

He won't — 

He won't put his Porthos through that — 

And not only because Aramis is watching *closely*. 

He pushes in steadily, *steadily*, and stares deep into Porthos's eyes. 

"Daddy..." 

Treville is growling — 

Growling so *harshly* — 

He's *sheathed* with sweat — 

Shaking and — the lead is tight. 

*Tight*. 

He won't lose control. 

He won't injure *either* of his sons. 

He won't — 

Porthos sobs and clenches *tight* — 

And Treville *makes* himself freeze, panting and panting until he can move without *shoving* — 

"Please — oh, please —" 

"Yes — *yes*, son," Treville says, and pushes — a little faster. He's almost there. He's — "I've got you, son. I've — we're." Treville growls *hard*. "Just. Take. *This*," he says, and *thrusts* — 

His knot *pops* in — 

Porthos gasps and *howls* — 

*His* knot expands, fat and beautiful and just as magnificent as it *should* be — 

And Aramis wriggles in beside Treville so he can get his hands back on it. 

Treville gasps a laugh. "Good boys. Good. Good *boys*." 

Aramis grins *ferociously* and goes back to kneading — 

Porthos whines and shudders so hard the whole *bed* moves — 

And Treville growls and *ruts* in — 

"*Daddy*!" 

"You're perfect around me, son..." 

"I — fuck — *fuck* —" 

"So hot. Sleek. *Tight*," Treville says, and ruts in hard, *hard* — 

"Daddy, don't stop, don't —" 

"I *won't*. Not now that I've got you. I hope you're prepared to take a pounding whenever I *want* you to, son..." 

"Fuck — *yes*!" 

"I hope you're prepared to take one every *day*," Treville says, and *snarls* as he swivels his hips, and he shoves in-in-*in* — 

"Daddy — please let me *spend*!" 

"You're so beautiful with those tears on your cheeks, son, with your *slick* all over your little brother's *hands*." 

"*Please*!" 

"You wanted *hard*." 

Porthos sobs and his cock spits slick again — 

*Again* — 

He *howls* — 

"Oh, son... oh, son... you make me *wild* inside..." And Treville just gives it to him, gives it to him fast and hard and *violently* — 

Just the way he would give it to *Reynard* — 

And he feels his sons' questions rise like smoke, like need — 

He snarls them down — for now — and fucks. His. *Boy*. 

"We're almost there, son..." 

Porthos nods and whimpers for him — 

"So sweet, so *sweet* — *clench*." 

Porthos obeys immediately and howls, voice cracking — 

Bucking up and up and *up* — 

The ride is so hard — 

The ride is so *wild* — 

The ride would be *dangerous* for a non-shifter — but for him it's nothing, nothing but perfect, nothing but beautiful, nothing — 

Everything — 

"Oh, Porthos... *spend*." 

Porthos *chokes* — 

Bucks again — 

Stays *locked* in an arch — 

And spurts all *over* Aramis's hands and chest and *face* as Aramis purrs and works him *hard*. 

Treville doesn't stop. 

Treville couldn't stop with a pistol to his head — 

Just — 

Just the sight of this — 

The sounds — 

Porthos is crooning so *hoarsely* as his cock gives up its last spatters — 

Aramis is purring open-mouthed as he leans in awkwardly to suckle and lap — 

And Treville can look down at his own cock rutting *in* to his boy, his beautiful boy, his perfect — 

Porthos *slumps* — 

Treville sinks deeper and *yips* — 

Growls — 

"Oh, *fuck*, Daddy, *absolutely*," Porthos says, laughing and pliant and loose, so open and *loose* as he *rolls* his head back and forth on the pillow — 

As Treville — has him. 

Just *has* him, one *shove* after another, because he can't stop himself anymore, because he doesn't *have* to stop himself anymore, because everything is right, just *right* — 

"Love you so *much*, Daddy..." 

And Treville wants to say it back, wants to — 

He yips again, *again* — 

His *ears* are shifting — 

Aramis looks up curiously, lips and chin *slick* and teeth so *sharp* — 

I LOVE YOU BOTH! Treville says, but all that comes out of his mouth are more growls and yips as he fucks harder, *harder* — 

Porthos winces and *grins*, loose and *sloppy* — 

The noises are so *wet* — 

So — 

And Treville's teeth are shifting. He can't. He *can't*. 

He pushes Aramis aside as gently as he can — 

"*Ai* — *yes*, Daddy!" 

He *covers* Porthos — 

"Oh, *fuck*, yeah — oh — oh, your teeth — *UNGH* —" 

He bites *deep*, and the taste — 

The *taste*!

He's rutting without rhythm, without *finesse*, and his boy tastes so good, so right, so — 

Treville is *reinforcing* the binding between them, making it tighter, fresh — 

Making it new. 

He feels it in his spine — 

He feels it in his *soul* — 

And when Porthos whimpers again, Treville *slams* in and *howls*, right into the bite-wound, spurting helplessly and needily and yes, please, forever — 

*Forever* — 

(Yours, Daddy...) 

Treville spurts *again* — 

His knot is swelling so — 

He spurts again and *yelps*, because that hurts, that hurts so fucking *perfectly* — 

"Rrrt?" 

I'll... explain... in a bit... 

He spurts again and *yelps* again — and Porthos wraps his arms around him and *leg*-locks him — 

And Aramis throws himself *atop* them — 

He spurts again. 

His yelp is somewhat squashed. 

Treville may, in fact, be smiling as maniacally as Aramis. 

"Oh, no, Daddy, you look more stupid!" Aramis says, and pets him. 

"Thank you very much for that, son. I *promise* to show you *exactly* how to reach this point." 

Aramis purrs. 

Treville rumbles. 

Porthos wheezes a *laugh* — "Could you both... let me... breathe...." 

Treville snickers and licks some of the sweat and escaped blood from Porthos's neck — and then pushes up onto his elbows, lifting Aramis in the process. 

"Oh fuck thank you —" 

Aramis crawls off Treville and lays on Porthos's face. 

"MMPH —" 

"You're an excellent cat, son." 

"I thank you!" 

Treville settles in where he is. He'll keep an eye on Porthos to see if the lack of air causes him to weaken unduly. 

(DADDY.) 

"Take your cuddles like a man, son." 

(I...)

Aramis purrs and settles more comfortably. 

Porthos makes a few — squashed — noises, but, well, he's still making noise, period. There's *some* air getting in there. 

All is well.


	10. Interlude.

Treville wakes up to the newly-familiar and entirely welcome sensation of having his chest stepped on by — wait. 

He opens his eyes to see Aramis in *cat*-form in the gloom — 

And cats are very, very bad at looking rueful, but Aramis is managing it. 

Somewhat. 

Treville strokes behind his ears, and down his sleek-furred back. "It's all right, son." 

Aramis mews softly and rests a paw on Treville's mouth. (I wanted... it is easier to curl up, this way.) 

Treville gives Aramis the slow blink. On Porthos's head...?

Aramis purrs and purrs. (I will sleep *between* my Daddy and my brother.) 

And on us?

(Yes!)

Good boy, Treville says, and licks that rough paw.

Aramis splays his paw-pads and purrs *loudly* — and Porthos, curled on his side beside them with one strong arm wrapped *tightly* around Treville's waist, rumbles muzzily in his sleep. 

(Oh, I must — I want —) 

Treville licks again. Go on, son. Get comfortable. Let me see you do it. 

(You want...?) 

I always want to see my boys happy and comfortable, Treville says, and slow-blinks again. 

Aramis purrs more, moves his paw, leans in to scent-mark Treville's face — 

Treville rumbles and nuzzles — 

And then Aramis moves, padding lightly over both of them in smaller and smaller circles — until he settles in a curl in the little pocket formed by Porthos's arm and Treville's chest. 

Treville rumbles more and pets his boys until sleep takes him again.


	11. There are definitely a few things to talk about, Athos.

Athos is waiting for them at the hostler's the next morning, and he gives them — a look. 

A *collective* look, which includes Aramis — still in cat-form for security's sake — and — 

And then Athos colours ever so faintly. 

And nods. 

And doesn't say a single blessed word. 

Porthos smacks him with his hat.

"Porthos —" 

"Don't do that, mate. We talked about this." 

"We talked about — all right, at the *very* least, we'll have the conversation in *private*." 

Porthos frowns — and nods. 

They ride. 

Athos says nothing. 

Athos says nothing. 

Athos continues to — 

"Mate, I'm about to hit you again —" 

"You can't *reach* me past our Captain —" 

"I'm about to ask *Aramis* to hit you." 

"Oh... dear. Hm." 

"Yeah. *So*?" 

"You all made love," Athos says, and checks their perimeter. "I don't see what we *do* have to speak about —" 

"What *you* want, son," Treville says, because — he will not be silent. 

Not anymore. 

There is no honour in that, and there is a *great* deal of *wrong*. "What you want from *all* of us." 

Athos doesn't say anything... but he colours. 

*Deeply*. 

Treville nods. "You can think about it. You can think about it all you *need* to — none of us will ever pressure you — but you need the facts —" 

"I believe I have them. Sir." 

"You don't," Treville says, and keeps his tone a little hard. "I love you. *We* love you. You don't know how badly I've wanted you to be *my* son —" 

"Sir — I — *Porthos* —" 

"Yes. He *did* lead me to the answer, son, and you can choose to be hacked-off at him for that if you want — but keep in mind that this is what *we* *both* want. You want to be my son. You want to be my *boy* —" 

"Sir — don't —" 

"I've *seen* that from you. I've *smelled* that *on* you —" 

Athos grunts and *flushes* — 

"And I want you that way, son. I won't deny it anymore. I won't tell that *lie*. I want you in my arms. I want you in my hands. I want you —" 

"On my *knees*?" And Athos is staring at him — and panting. His eyes are wild and full and — more than a little out of control. 

Treville tightens his own lead. "If that's where our desires lead us, son." 

Athos opens his mouth — and then firms it into a hard line. "This is an inappropriate conversation, sir." 

"Athos... I'll be here. And so will the rest of us." 

"Are you speaking for *Aramis*, as well?" 

Treville raises an eyebrow. "Yes. You made an excellent impression, son —" 

"No —" 

"And when we told him more about you —" 

"*Stop* — please." This time, Athos looks honestly wounded. Honestly... hurt. 

He smells of self-loathing and he's almost certainly *sunk* into his own 'failings' and — Treville will not chase him away. "All right, son. We can talk about other things." 

Athos swallows and nods once, checking their perimeter *obsessively*. 

Porthos is watching Athos worriedly. 

Treville is... 

No. 

No, he won't let himself backslide. He *can't* backslide. 

It was the right decision to be honest. 

It was the right decision to let Athos know he's *wanted*. 

Needed and *loved* — 

Always loved. 

Treville shivers and remembers sparring with — Olivier, not Athos. 

_The smile isn't on Olivier's face — he's too focused for that — but it's bright in his eyes. Happy._

_Wild —_

_*Ready* —_

_Ready for anything Treville can *throw* at him —_

_Treville grins, rumbles, lets Olivier drive him back and back —_

_"Good, son, more —"_

_"*Yes*, Uncle —"_

_"I'm about to attack —"_

_"Don't *warn* me —"_

_"But I have to *distract* you, son —"_

_"What —"_

_And Treville kicks for Olivier's leg — not *too* hard —_

_"*Oh* —" Olivier spins away from the kick *almost* perfectly — but not fast enough._

_Treville gets in a blow to his kidneys —_

_"No — *damn* —"_

_"Yes, son, that was a stab —"_

_Olivier grunts and gets in a *hard* blow to Treville's *belly*._

_Treville grunts — "Did you just *gut* me, son?"_

_"Well... yes?"_

_Treville grins and hugs Olivier *tight* from the back —_

_"I —"_

_"Good *job*, son. Always take as many of the bastards with you as possible," Treville says, and licks his temple._

_"I — I — *yes*, Uncle —"_

_"But first make sure you can't get clear."_

_"I. Hm."_

_"Mm?"_

_"Uncle..."_

_"Yes?"_

_"That... seems to conflict?"_

_"No, it doesn't, it's just *irritating*, son," Treville says, spinning Olivier out of his arms —_

_"Oh —"_

_He takes up a guard position —_

_"Oh, yes!" Olivier mirrors him —_

_"Good, *attack*."_

_Olivier nods and comes at him fast, brilliantly, *beautifully* —_

_"Perfect, perfect. You're going to have to watch yourself, son. You're going to have to be *careful* with yourself — and your natural inclinations."_

_"Sir?"_

_Treville attacks without warning —_

_Olivier grunts and slips into a smooth defense —_

_"Beautiful. And you're going to have to *protect* yourself, son — and the investment we've put into you and your training. You're going to have a choice one day, son. You're going to have the chance to fight to your very last *breath*... or live to fight another day."_

_"Oh — sir —"_

_"You have to choose the latter, son," Treville says, and drives Olivier back and *back* —_

_Too easily. Hm._

_"Son?"_

_"I — but — my father hasn't... agreed..." And Olivier looks at him with such hope —_

_Such *need* —_

_Such need for his Uncle to tell him that, no, truly, his father had relented, it was all decided, Olivier *could* enlist —_

_And all Treville could do was growl at his own *idiocy* and call a halt. "Son —"_

_"It — it's all right, Uncle. We all... forget things."_

_Treville pulls Olivier into his arms and —_

_And tries to keep himself from growling *more* for the way that, this time, Olivier never relaxes into his touch._

Porthos grunts — 

Aramis yowls and moves to Athos's side of Treville's cloak, peering out. He meows imperiously at Athos. 

Athos sighs. "Do I want to *know* why you all... drifted *away* for the last few minutes?" 

There's still colour in your cheeks, son — no. No. 

"Daddy shared a memory, brother." 

Athos grits his teeth — stops that. "May I ask which?" 

"The day I forgot that Laurent hadn't agreed to allow you to enlist," Treville says. 

Athos *blinks* —

"You weren't expecting that." 

"I was expecting something... much worse," Athos says, and doesn't look at any of them. Not directly. 

Now he's definitely thinking of that creature he'd married.

Porthos takes over checking their perimeter — 

And Aramis meows again. *Loudly*. 

"I — is he..." 

"He'd like your attention, son. In point of fact, he'd like to ride with you." 

Athos shudders. "No, thank you." 

Aramis *yowls* and crouches to leap — 

Treville scruffs him. "Remember, son. We have to listen when our loves deny us." 

"Our — *sir*." 

"Athos. Aramis would like, very much, to give and receive comfort from you." 

Athos blinks. "He... needs comfort? I —" 

"He needs *your* comfort. Specifically, the comfort of knowing that he's given you pleasure, and warmth, and some degree of happiness." 

Athos swallows with a click. 

Aramis meows again — 

And, after a moment, Athos rides his good, stolid Actaeon closer to Treville's Lisle.

Treville releases Aramis, and he immediately leaps nimbly onto Athos's lap, before pushing back to curl into his cloak. 

"Is he — will he be all right if I don't — but of course you ride with him this way all the time. Hm." 

Treville smiles at Athos. "That I do, son. Remember — his sense of balance is near-infinitely superior to yours." 

Athos hums. "I can't help but take that as a challenge." 

Porthos snorts. "Athos." 

"Are you denigrating the importance of training, Porthos?" And there's a little smile curling at the corner of Athos's mouth. 

Porthos snorts *harder*. "*Arse*." 

"As you say, of course," Athos says, and they ride in silence for a time. 

Silence, of course, except for the sound of Aramis's *vehement* purrs. 

Athos strokes him, from time to time. 

Treville breathes easier. "I'll be training Aramis in my office today. The various little — and not-so-little — things he'll need to know in order to help me take care of our problem." 

"You're planning to do it soon," Athos says. 

"Very soon. Aramis has been training *himself* for years, after all, and it took next to no time to train him to shift —" 

"You *did* train him to shift." 

Treville blinks. 

Porthos *chokes* — 

Athos smiles *meanly*. "I didn't want to *assume*." 

"Why don't I beat you every *day*?" And Porthos looks *stricken*. 

Athos shows even more teeth. "Because we've never negotiated that properly —" 

"Oh, fuck —" 

"And you've always been a very *exacting* man about such things." 

"And you're bloody *not*?" 

Athos huffs. "I — oh, brother, I don't know what I am. I don't know what this *conversation* is —" 

"Overdue, son." 

"Oh — *God* —" 

Treville rumbles and reaches over to clap Athos on the arm. "All is well. We can think, we can speak, or we can speak about other things —" 

Athos takes a shuddering breath —

"It's all right, brother," Porthos says gently, *soothingly* — "Whatever you *need*." 

"I've always needed — you, brother. You. From the very first day we met, and you smiled at me, and somehow it didn't *hurt*." 

"Oh, *fuck*, Athos —" 

"And — I need my." He flushes hard — 

Grits his *teeth* — 

"I need to — stop. I need to stop," he says, and strokes Aramis. "I apologize. I shouldn't have —" 

"Shh, all is well, son," Treville says. "None of this comes easy." 

"No — you and Porthos —" 

"Porthos and I have had a *year*. A year where we were *both* determined to be honest with each other. It still took until last night to be *completely* honest." 

Athos opens his mouth — 

"Aramis and I had a mental connection from the beginning. He's a spirit-mage, son. It's what he *does*." 

Athos blinks — 

Obviously *considers* — 

"I... you have such a connection to Porthos now." 

"I do, son. I always *could* have, but I called myself being a good father..." Treville growls and shakes his head. "I gave him his *privacy* rather than giving him what he needed. What we *both* needed. No longer. Especially since pushing down the barriers between us allowed me to see the blocks on his *power*." 

Athos *blinks* — and *looks* at Porthos. 

"Yeah, that's going to take some getting used to, mate. Uh. Try not to look at me too weird?" And Porthos's words are light, but his tone — 

Athos *growls*. "You will *always* be my *brother*." 

"Right, I heard that —" 

"Did you?" 

Porthos laughs ruefully. "Go easy on me, mate," he says, and lowers his voice even more. "My *cock* started changing last night." 

Athos blinks. "Like..." And he nods to Treville. 

Honesty is the better part of valour. He sighs filthily. "It's going to look a great *deal* like mine when all's said and done, sons." 

"Oh fuck." 

Aramis purrs even louder —

Athos looks somewhat *dazed* — and then he blinks. "What colour is Porthos's *fur*?" 

"It's almost certainly going to be a very dark brown, like his mother's. Earth-shifters' colouration tends to match the colouration they have in human-form." 

"And the way you said that... Aramis's colouration is different?" 

Treville hums with pride and pleasure. "His hair is chestnut, shot through with gold. I haven't the faintest *idea* why he's a black cat —" 

"MROWR." 

"— but we can discuss that at another time." 

Athos raises an eyebrow. "Are we quite sure that it won't prove to be desperately important — and those claws are *exceedingly* sharp. Hm. Please don't damage my leathers unduly, Aramis; I'm quite fond of this set." 

Aramis growls low. 

"Ah, I see. I would never cast aspersions on you or your sincerity —" 

More growling — 

"— or your sincere desire to be of assistance to all of us — I believe I'm bleeding." 

Treville laughs. "Quit while you're only a *little* behind, son." 

"I... suppose I will do just that," Athos says, peeling off one riding glove and offering Aramis his hand — 

Quite bravely, really — 

And then Athos smiles in pleased surprise. 

"He scent-marked you, son?" 

"Rather brutally. It..." 

"Mm?" 

Athos blushes again and ducks his head — but only for a moment before he turns to checking their perimeter again. "It reminded me... of the way you would kiss my forehead, sir. Whenever there was someone around who *couldn't* know the truth of you." 

Treville rumbles — and laughs. "It was always so *frustrating*." 

"I could tell. It... in a way, it made the kisses... better," Athos says, and smiles ruefully. 

"Is that so?" 

"Mm. The fact that you could grow so *very* frustrated by the constraints placed on you. The fact that you could behave 'correctly' despite the frustration and your own nature. And, of course, the fact that you would choose to touch me — or Thomas, or both of us — even though it *surely* would have been easier on you to do nothing of the kind —" 

Treville growls and leads them around the fountain across from the garrison. "That never would've been easier, son. Touching you boys... showing you boys just how much you made me *love* you..." He growls again. "Nothing was easier than that." 

Athos — pants. And then huffs. 

And then huffs several more times. 

Treville raises an eyebrow — 

Porthos just grins as they ride into the garrison. "You'd forgotten he could talk that way. Hadn't you." 

"He doesn't — it's so — I..." 

Porthos snickers. "Bit *affecting*, yeah. You'll get used to it."

Athos looks at both of them as they ride for the stables... and smiles. "I... suppose I will." 

Treville rumbles low. "My boy."


	12. The plan.

Separating Aramis from Athos once it was time for him and Porthos to train was a bit... intense, but the horses have heard worse, and Athos promises to stop in to share his lunch break with them all. 

Aramis is mollified, and allows Treville to neaten the tails of his collar, tuck him under his arm, and tote him up to the walk. 

Aramis immediately leaps up on the railing and destroys Treville's stern and Captain-ly mien as he looks out over the men, but — 

But he also tickles Treville's beard with his tail. 

That's important. 

There are a few cat-calls along the lines of 'Armand' — Treville has been *very* careful not to use Aramis's real name around anyone but his sons and his extremely well-trained staff — taking over for Treville, and Treville plays along, promising to institute new drills involving leaping straight up walls, wriggling into tight spaces, and impregnating as many — wait, you men already do that. 

The raucous laughter for that does his heart no small measure of good, and he sends his men off to train with a smile on his face. 

And carries Aramis into his office. 

He closes and locks the door behind him, and Aramis all but pours himself out of his arms and onto the desk... and into human-form. 

The clothes they'd found for him that fit the *best*... 

Well, the kitchen boys are too small, and so are the stable boys, which made it a *very* good thing that a three-minute conversation with his Amina-love all these years ago had made Tréville keep *all* of his old clothes that were still in good condition. 

("I want to see our son in his *father's* clothes." 

"Oh — Amina-love —" 

"I *know* you can buy him all new things —" 

"I'm convinced!") 

And Amina had rumbled and pushed close, wrapping her arms around his neck and grinning. ("My *fool* of a dog..." 

"*Yours* —" 

"Always wanting to leave your *mark*...") 

They'd left a lot of marks on each *other* that night. 

And they'd tasted every last one. 

They — no. 

"My Daddy will share more?" 

Treville takes a *breath* — and a deeper breath of Aramis's sweet musk. He is *lounging* on the desk, and he is — 

Beautiful. 

He makes Treville's old clothes look *attractive*, as opposed to like his parents' attempt to simultaneously build gentry and build someone who could *infiltrate* gentry while still retaining his basic hatred of same. 

He makes — 

And now he's rolling onto his back — 

Hanging his head over the *edge* of the desk — 

Treville smiles helplessly. "Son." 

Aramis grins ferociously for a moment — and then begins to stretch. *Ostentatiously*. 

That — "Son..." 

He kicks his legs into the air — 

Spreads them — 

Yawns — 

Rolls up onto his knees and stretches *more* — 

"Son, I —" 

And then Aramis rolls until he can bat at Treville's cape, and that — 

Treville gives up and laughs, moving to sit in his chair — 

Aramis immediately straddles his lap and starts kneading his chest. 

Treville sighs. "That can't possibly be as much fun to do with me as it is to do with Porthos." 

Aramis *looks* at him. 

"I'll shut it —" 

"You will *train* me, since you will not give me more memories —" 

"But I *will* give you more memories, son. That *is* your training," Treville says, and grins. 

"This is so?" 

"Oh, yes. You see, under normal circumstances, I'd mostly use you to help me infiltrate Richelieu's home —" 

"I will murder *all* the guards!" 

"No, you will *not*." 

"I will murder *some* of the guards, leaving the rest for my Daddy!" And Aramis nods once and smiles. 

Treville laughs softly. "I'm afraid we're going to have to save our *fun* times for when we're killing *your* enemies, son." 

"What? What do you mean?" 

Treville strokes down the fascinating bridge of Aramis's nose. 

"Daddy —" 

"You're going to put the guards to *sleep*, son. You know how, don't you?" 

"I — *yes*. I have had to do this *much* when I have been weak, but —" 

"*But*... we're going to make it look like Richelieu's bad habits — rich food, strong drink, licentious women, et cetera — have caused him to die in his *sleep*, little one." 

"*No*!" 

"Yes —" 

"Daddy, he must *suffer*!" 

"Did I ever say he wouldn't...?" 

Aramis blinks —

Blinks more — 

"Brrt...?" 

Treville grins and cups Aramis's lovely face. "What you haven't done *much* of with your power — I don't *think* — is *mine* people for information, which is something you simply couldn't do in cat-form."

"I take information from people all the time! People *give* me their thoughts! It is *easy*!" 

"Oh, yes. But there's that... and then there are the deeper thoughts. The thoughts and memories people *hide* — even, at least in part, from themselves." 

"Oh — oh, *secrets*!" 

"That's right, son. We're going to *strip* Richelieu of *everything* he's been hiding. Every secret, every bit of blackmail, every network of *agents*." 

"Oh, *Daddy*!" 

"And? We're going to make it hurt. Let me show you how."


	13. Treville may be doing this wrong, but he's doing this wrong *consistently*.

By the time Porthos and Athos are on the walk with lunch for all of them, Treville's head is splitting and his entire *soul* feels scored — 

But *Aramis* knows every secret he and Reynard ever told each other — 

And every secret he and *Kitos* ever told each other — 

And *most* of the secrets he and *Laurent* told each other — 

And precisely what Marie-Angelique had tasted like *just* after her monthlies. 

Aramis purrs as he kneads Treville's forehead. 

Treville rumbles tiredly. "You're an excellent student, son." 

"My Daddy is an excellent teacher!" 

"Shh, quieter." 

"Oh — but — you must be *healed*, Daddy —"

"Oi, what?" And Porthos pushes in with Athos on his heels. "Healed from what?" 

Athos scans the room and then closes the door behind them — 

"Daddy was showing me how we are going to torture Richelieu to death," Aramis says, and kneads more assiduously. "He used *himself* as a teaching aid." 

Porthos frowns. "Daddy..." 

"I'm well, son," Treville says, and catches Aramis's hands in his own, licking the knuckles. "If you'll all just give me — and the All-Mother — a moment?" 

Porthos frowns *harder* — 

Athos studies *all* of them — 

And Aramis watches attentively as Treville opens himself to the All-Mother — 

She wants to know *why* he's been letting Aramis use him as a scratching post — 

She's really quite vehement about it, though thankfully not *loud* or *flattening* — 

And Treville shares information about Richelieu. His malevolence — and his *importance*. 

She's quiet for a moment while she heals and renews him. 

*Ominously* quiet, really — 

Treville licks his — 

**WHY DID YOU NOT GIVE HIM TO ME.**

Treville slumps over and drools. 

** I WOULD TAKE ALL OF HIS INFORMATION AND GIVE YOU THE VITAL PORTIONS. **

I...

**YOU NEVER LISTEN TO ME.**

Mother — 

**YOU ARE SETTING A BAD EXAMPLE FOR YOUR CHILDREN.**

Treville spends in his — no, the All-Mother takes it. 

He *gurgles*, and tries — 

Tries — Mother. This is work Aramis *must* learn to do. 

The All-Mother looks at him. 

The All-Mother looks at him *hard*. 

Treville sweats — 

And drools more —

And then the All-Mother eases the *force* of Herself on Treville's soul and *reams* him with power — 

With — 

With so much *power* — 

Treville doesn't *know* what sound he's making — 

He just knows that, throughout, the All-Mother is reminding him that he has a brother who can *help* him teach Aramis lessons like the ones he'd taught this morning. 

An ally much, *much* better able to protect himself from the consequences. 

Treville can *feel* Jason looking at him smugly. 

Literally. 

Treville groans — when he can. Yes, Mother. I'll take better care of myself and my children. I promise. 

He means it, this time. 

Jason's coming *home* — 

And his family is finally his, in a way it hasn't been for long, long years.

The All-Mother caresses and releases him then, leaving him to give himself a shake and find a *way* to sit upright again — 

He's surrounded by his sons. 

Aramis is *still* on his lap, batting at him lightly — 

Porthos is dabbing at the drool with his handkerchief — 

Athos has his hand on his sword. Which. 

Treville takes the handkerchief *away* from Porthos and wipes his face properly — "Thank you, son." 

"You're welcome, Daddy. You really made Her stroppy this time, eh?" 

"*Oh*, yes. I'm not to train Aramis — or any of you — in ways that leave me savaged." 

"I believe that's *fair*, sir," Athos says, eyes wide and hand still on the hilt of his *sword* — 

"It is, it is — and son, did you mean to attack the *goddess*?" 

"I..." 

Aramis looks supremely interested in the answer to that question. 

So does Porthos. 

Jason just *feels* supremely interested. 

Treville raises his eyebrows.

After another moment, Athos shrugs using only his facial muscles and stands down. He's feeling both better *and* like an arsehole, then.

Time with Porthos did him good. 

(I do try, Daddy.) 

Treville pinches the bridge of his nose and laughs — 

(You have *excellent* taste in children, amant.) 

*You* shut it. You were too *busy* to help, remember?

(I...) 

And it's always fascinating to feel Jason get *flustered* over the link between them — 

Porthos and Aramis are blinking, *too* — 

But Athos is — frowning. That's not on. 

It's time for... many things.

"Son. Would you *like* to be linked to me. To *us*." 

"I —" 

Treville raises a hand. "Knowing that I want it — and *have* wanted it since you were a *boy*." 

*Athos* blinks. "Then... why? Did my parents not...?" 

"We agreed, when you and Thomas were young, that you were *too* young to make an *informed* choice. Once you were older, and the arguments over what Laurent had planned for you boys' futures started up... I bowed out in respect for his position *as* your father, and as my eldest, dearest brother. We didn't talk about it enough. We —" Treville growls. "If we hadn't lost Kitos and Reynard so *young*, if we hadn't lost *Amina*... they would've kicked our *arses* about this. They would've set us straight." 

"They... would've convinced you to bind us?" 

"And convinced Laurent to let you enlist, yes," Treville says, and reaches out to grip Athos's wrist. "Do you *want* it." 

"I do." 

"Should I be letting you *think* about it." 

"Sir, I've thought of little else, in terms of you, since I've known you and my parents *could* do this." 

Treville growls *hungrily* — 

Aramis grins, flashing his canines and moving off Treville's lap — 

*Pushing* Athos *at* Treville's lap — 

"I — what —" 

Porthos coughs. "He um. He believes in being fair, mate." 

"You have not had our Daddy's bite! You must now —" 

"Please don't put me on my Uncle's lap. Please." 

Aramis stops pushing and frowns. "Why not? It is a very good lap. Daddy's cock is large and stiff with lust for all of us —" 

"That's — that's maybe not helping, Aramis," Porthos says, and tugs Aramis close. 

"Why not —" 

"Because — uh..." 

Treville snickers and — no. No. He coughs himself back under control, stands *up*, and turns to cup Athos's face. "Because *Athos* isn't ready to *deal* with my cock. Isn't that right, son?"

Athos turns his wide eyes on all of them. "I... yes. I — yes. Yes. That's correct." 

Treville hauls Athos into a tight hug. "I love you, son. I've loved you since the day you were *born*." 

"I. Can still feel your cock, sir." 

Treville snorts. In Athos's *ear* — "Fuck — I'm sorry —" 

Athos pulls back — not far. He's smiling wryly and *softly*. "I've missed your laughter. Fearless's laughter." 

Treville inhales sharply — and doesn't kiss Athos. 

But he does lick his cheeks and his mouth. 

He doesn't do it perfunctorily, either. 

Athos shivers and leans in — and licks him back. 

"Son... where should I bite you?" 

For just a moment, Athos's eyes are wide and full in an entirely different way — but he shutters them. 

And — Treville has to be honest. "Son, your thoughts... they're going to be open to us until we can all teach you how to keep them private —" 

Athos holds up a hand. "Father explained this to me when I... interrogated him about the matter, truly," he says, and huffs. "He told me that he often flooded you with questions on the most random topics imaginable." 

Treville smiles helplessly. "He did, son. All the time. I loved it beyond words." 

"Even when the answers were utterly beyond you?" 

"Sometimes especially then. You can learn a lot about a person by the questions they choose to ask — and I always wanted to know everything about Laurent." 

"You loved him — I always knew you loved him, and my mother, as well." 

"I knew Marie-Angelique was perfect for your father almost as soon as we met her, son. And so did your father." Treville grins. "I can't wait to share more memories with you directly." 

Athos stares *into* him for long moments, eyes unreadable and scents... wild. 

"Son?"

And then he turns to where Porthos is sniffing and nuzzling into Aramis's hair while Aramis purrs quietly and kneads his chest — 

"What is it, son?" 

Athos huffs again and turns back to him. "Sir. I... what *is* family to you? What is the *difference* between a son and a lover? Is there one?" 

Treville can feel Jason listening in again — 

(I'm *always* curious to hear how people choose to answer *this* question, amant.) 

I'll just bet. But... Treville smiles wryly, and reaches up to cup Athos's face, smoothing his soft beard. "Is this all right, son?" 

"Yes, sir. You're..." Athos shakes his head once. "I've missed your hands on me." 

Treville rumbles — 

And so does Porthos. "Brother, you have no *idea* how many different ways I want to reward you for your honesty." 

"And yet I suspect I *will* know once Treville *bites* me," Athos says, and huffs several times before shivering. "I — please tell me, sir." 

Treville nods. "My brothers — and sisters, and yes, that would be Amina *and* your mother, Athos — would tell filthy, raucous jokes about what sort of father I would be, should I ever *become* a father..." 

"I — what? I... of course I know what *sort* of whoring you used to do before you needed to build a more respectable public profile, but —" 

"I didn't *just* fuck boys, Athos. I did my *level* best to parent them. To... take them to myself. To..." Treville laughs softly and looks to Porthos. "There were times when I'd keep a boy on my lap all night, telling stories and sharing sips of wine, getting them to tell me their problems so I could do what I could to solve them over the course of our relationships... well." 

"Uh." 

"I want this thing!" 

"It's yours, Aramis. *Whenever* you want it." 

"Right, but Daddy, do you need that all the *time*." 

"No, son, I don't. But it set a tone to the jokes — and not-*quite*-jokes — that were told in my *first* pack. And when my Amina-love and I *were* bound, and everyone knew that her son would be *my* son..." 

"The jokes grew uncomfortable, sir...?" And Athos raises an eyebrow. 

"Briefly," Treville says, honestly. "Amina made it clear — blisteringly and painfully clear — that our child would be *ours*, and that we would raise him — and all future children — as we saw *fit*." 

"She trusted you." 

"She trusted me to be myself, son," Treville says, and strokes Athos's cheek with his thumb. "And to never lay a finger on a young man who didn't want me to do it." 

Athos opens his mouth — and closes it. 

Treville smiles wryly and drops his hand. 

"Right, well, that raises some *disturbing* questions about my mum," Porthos says and snickers *hard* — 

"You don't think it raises disturbing questions about the entire *pack*?" And Athos is a *little* strident — 

"What is disturbing? They knew Daddy would love his children and listen to them and never *hurt* them!" 

Porthos and Athos stare at Aramis. 

Treville walks over and licks Aramis's cheeks — 

"Oh —" Aramis purrs and scent-marks him quickly and roughly. "Daddy, *bite* Athos." 

"He has to be ready for it, son —" 

"I — I *am*," Athos says, and rolls up the sleeve of his training shirt. "It's only... please tell me more about *family*. About *parenting*. About — I don't know how to *phrase* the question anymore." 

"I'm a pack animal, son — that's one way to put it. Dogs discriminate *far* less than humans — that's another way. The best way, I think," Treville says, and takes Athos's arm — 

And licks it — 

Athos pants — 

"The best way to put it is that the first person I ever wanted to make love with was my *own* father —" 

(Oh, my.) 

"Oh, *God* —" 

"Wait, what —" 

"You must share all of this!" 

"— and I didn't actually *stop* desiring him until long after the man was dead," Treville says. "Now —" 

"Bite!" 

Treville does just that, thrilling for the tastes of his boy — 

His sweet-metal-powerful *blood* — 

He sucks because he *has* to — 

Athos *moans* — 

Grips Treville's *shoulder* with his free hand — 

And it starts to shake when Treville starts lapping, starts — fuck, tasting, healing, *binding* — 

Binding the way he should've done *years* ago, and he can feel Athos, feel him struggling to reach for him and struggling to hide all at once — 

Treville won't let him hide. 

Treville pulls him *in* — 

Athos *gasps* — 

The scents of his hunger and arousal *spike* — 

Son...

(SIR!) 

Shh. Quietly, now. We can all hear you just fine....

(I — I — all? All? I don't want — please —) 

You'll be able to control your speech if you control your emotions — 

And there is — laughter. Wild. *Free*.

*Dark* — 

(I've *never* been able to control my — emotions. But... I suppose I can see what you mean.) 

Treville caresses him. There you are. 

(Oh...)

Did you want privacy *now*, son? And Treville laps the wound closed and stands straight. 

Athos looks at all of them, eyes wide again and so full, so *full* — 

It's safe, son. It's safe with us. 

(It's never safe,) Olivier says in Athos's voice, and — 

And Aramis is squeezing between Athos and Treville — 

"I — I — Aramis —" 

Aramis is kneading Athos *aggressively* — 

Mewing and pressing close enough to put them in danger of *overbalancing* — 

"What — what should I —" 

Treville takes Athos's hands and moves one to Aramis's hair and the other to Aramis's back. 

Athos shivers — 

Swallows and nods — 

And pets. 

Treville and Porthos wrap their arms around them both. 

They can eat later.


	14. Using one's powers for... good? Yes, good.

Happily — and this is the first time Treville's ever had this thought, so the night feels eventful on even more levels — the rooms Richelieu keeps in the city just aren't that far from Treville's own. 

This takes care of the problem of having to scrounge up a horse none of the Guardsmen would recognize. Instead, he glamours himself and Aramis — Aramis is now a fluffy white confection of a cat that Treville's seen wandering around Richelieu in the recent past, while *he* is merely a youngish merchant too foolish to keep guards of his own — and they take a walk through the misty streets. 

A disappointingly *uneventful* walk, considering how far his blood is up, but — it's for the best. 

And, soon enough, Treville starts hearing heavy, slow breathing from the rooftops. 

Soft, peaceful snores. 

Incoherent, sleepy mutters and giggles — 

Aramis is already hard at work, but, really, how *many* Guardsmen had Richelieu pulled off their regular duties for this?

He won't interrupt Aramis to ask him to count. 

In truth, Richelieu has always been quite *reasonably* paranoid — and a failed assassination attempt that included Treville's *son* really *should've* made him even more so. Still, by *Treville's* count, Aramis has put *eight* men to sleep already, and they're only just getting near the bloody house. 

He urges them into an alley. 

(What is it, Daddy?) 

Tell me how you are. 

(I am well! There are only three guards left!) 

On the doors? 

(Yes, Daddy.) 

And the staff?

(Asleep, except for the children cleaning in the kitchen.) 

Treville can't *hear* that well — and neither can Aramis, truly — but Aramis can touch their souls. 

Treville nods thoughtfully, and decides to think like Jason, reaching for signs of magical artifacts or other surprises — and finding... something. 

Deep in the heart of the house. 

(Brrrt...?) 

Just a moment, son. Treville examines the thing from a distance, finding it to be *mostly* quiescent, not at all malevolent... 

A protective charm of some sort? 

Some sort of trap that Treville just can't read?

Treville reaches for Jason — 

(You *have* learned a lesson a two.) 

Jason. 

(Yes, yes. It won't do you any harm — it's a luck charm. From *my* neck of the woods, as it were.)

Treville blinks. He's been trafficking with *witches*?

(Perhaps he got bored with trying to burn us.) 

Aramis growls at Treville's feet. 

Agreed, son. 

(Do retrieve it —) 

Right you are, lover. I don't want to trigger any damned Inquisitions with this. Thank you *very* much.

(I'm yours, as ever. *Do* have fun.) 

Treville shows his teeth. Absolutely. Take us to the back entrance, Aramis. 

(I will put the kitchen boys to sleep, as well?) 

That you will. 

As it happens, the Guardsmen on duty at the back were sharing a whore instead of paying *any* attention to *anything*, but the nap they're all taking against the wall should be just as refreshing as what they *were* doing, if less fun. 

The kitchen boys are... exhausted. 

Obviously overworked, by the lines of strain on their sleeping faces, by their underfed bodies — 

Treville growls under his breath and strokes one's brown hair back from his forehead. 

He'll see about getting them a better master. 

Treville follows his senses to the luck charm, and is utterly unsurprised to find himself outside Richelieu's bedroom. 

The charm is in his bedside table. 

Treville walks in, careful of the *numerous* dozing cats —

Aramis leaps up onto the bed itself — 

Treville drops their glamour and *yanks* the drawer open — 

Richelieu wakes with a gasp — 

"I don't think I want to hear your voice, Cardinal," Treville says. "Ever again." And he does a pass over Richelieu's face and throat that *constricts* his throat and makes it hard — but not *completely* impossible — for him to breathe. "There." 

Richelieu's eyes are wide — and then they narrow with fury and disgust. 

"You've always been a very expressive man, Cardinal. But I wouldn't throw stones," Treville says, pulling the luck charm out of the drawer and making sure Richelieu gets a *good* look at it before he pockets it. 

Richelieu is stone-faced. 

"Where is the witch who made that?" 

Richelieu raises an eyebrow. 

"Now, Aramis." 

Aramis shifts, covers Richelieu's face with his hand, and *rakes* the information out of him. 

Richelieu's scream is a very satisfying whistle — 

Until Treville smells the cooking witch-flesh in his memories. 

Aramis growls and tightens his grip — 

"*No*, son." 

"Daddy —" 

"No bruises. No scratches. No *marks*. Just like we agreed."

"Rrroowwwl." And Aramis eases his grip. "Yes, Daddy." 

Richelieu is panting and *shaking* — 

And they have a long way to go with a relatively short time before all the sleeping guards are noticed. "Let's talk about your intelligence networks, Cardinal."

Aramis claws *deep* with his power — 

And the information is all right there for the both of them. 

All of the spies. 

All of the spies' *connections*. 

All of the spies' *boltholes* and *aliases*. 

And there's more. 

So *much* more. 

So many bodies over so many *years* — and now Treville knows *exactly* where they're buried. 

He isn't entirely sure how much of the information on the Church *he'll* be able to use — but he'll *find* people to use it with. 

The *next* Cardinal is going to be *his* creature, through and through. 

And now he knows exactly which men Richelieu *feared* would succeed him lest Treville *have* too much influence over them. 

And Richelieu... stinks. 

Of pain. Of fear. Of frustration and fear of *death*. 

You don't spend your *life* as a soldier without knowing that scent. 

Richelieu is wild-eyed and — not delirious. Aramis won't let him have that mercy. 

Aramis is looking up at him expectantly. 

A part of Treville wants to just *keep* making the man suffer. 

It's the part which had strung Belgard up by his intestines *carefully*, so he'd live through every second of it. 

It's the part which had *started* his and Jason's 'interrogation' of Guillou by removing his *eye*. 

It's the part which tends to be... excessive. 

Aramis is smiling hopefully at him and reaching for Richelieu's face again. 

Treville laughs quietly. "No, son. We have to think long-term — and those Guardsmen *must* wake up *soon*." 

Aramis sighs. "Yes, Daddy," he says, shifting back into cat-form — 

Treville glamours them both again — this time into a baker heading into work a little early and a black-and-white mass of fur — 

And then he presses one hand over Richelieu's heart... and asks the All-Mother for a boon. 

It ends with a long, rattling breath that's louder than any other noise Richelieu had made tonight — the All-Mother had repaired his throat before stopping his heart. 

She'd thought it was best. 

Since Treville insisted on being so *secretive* all the time.

He thanks Her as he and Aramis leave — 

She tells him that She'd also removed their essence from the house and its surrounding area, so other witches wouldn't be able to find it. 

He thanks Her for that, too — 

She asks him if She should scrub Treville's own homes clean. Just in case. 

Treville pauses near an alley. I... will definitely let you take care of more of my problems in the future, Mother. 

She looks at him. *Hard*. 

I promise!

She caresses him somewhat violently — it's a bit like having one's soul slapped with a *tree*. *Lovingly*. And then She recedes. 

Aramis is purring and winding through his legs. 

Jason is laughing at him. 

Porthos and Athos are *looking* at him through *their* links — 

Treville picks up Aramis and carries him. Mission accomplished, sons.

Porthos cheers — 

Athos hums. (With a minimum of... mess?) 

No mess, at all. Aramis was perfect. Absolutely *perfect*. 

Aramis purrs and cuddles into his arms. 

He's going to need a good amount of rest, though. And a *lot* of food. 

(Which first, Daddy?) 

Hm. What do *you* say, little one? 

But Aramis doesn't say anything, at all — he's fast asleep.


	15. A conversation with the Queen.

Treville was, of course, *expecting* to spend a great deal of time at the palace once Richelieu was dead, but... 

It's still irritating. 

Exhausting. 

*Weighing* on the *spirit*. 

It's easy enough to convince Louis that he and Richelieu had planned for one another's deaths — that's what you *do* in the French court — and even to convince the man that they had made contingency plans for it, but it isn't until Treville actually starts bringing in the kind of information that Richelieu *used* to — carefully tailored, of course — that Louis starts to relax. 

Which is reasonable — even admirable, in a way — but...

But he was never meant for court life. 

His parents had trained him for it as best as they could, and Laurent and Marie-Angelique had polished his rough edges, but he *is* rough edges. 

He's a *soldier*. 

He belongs at the *garrison*. He —

"Do you find yourself missing him, Captain?" The Queen — 

Treville blinks — and realizes that he'd honestly been woolgathering in this damned antechamber, waiting for Louis to shit or get off the pot. 

And bloody *glaring* at the place beside him where Richelieu liked to stand to get the most light burnishing his grey in a hopeful halo. 

He turns and smiles at the Queen, making a leg — 

She has 'Armand' in her arms. On her *chest*, really — 

(It is very soft and fragrant, Daddy!) 

I'll just bet... 

And the Queen is waiting for an answer. "You have my apologies, Your Majesty —" 

"Not at all, Captain. This has been a difficult and *strained* time for all of us, has it not?" 

Treville smiles down at her. "You are ever gracious and kind." 

"And *you* are charming — but not charming enough to distract me," she says, and gives him a puckish smile. "*Do* you miss him?" 

The *Queen* has no illusions — *needs* no illusions — about arrangements between old courtiers. 

The *Queen* knows an assassination when she sees one — whether or not she can suss out how the assassination was done. 

The *Queen*... is a very, very intelligent woman. 

And Treville smiles wryly. "I miss the convenience of him, Your Majesty. He got a great deal *done* for the French Crown, and finding someone equally effective is going to be... difficult." 

"A likely and *true* answer, I think," she says, and gives him a measuring look. "For the most part." 

"Your Majesty —" 

"I believe you already have someone in mind for my husband to raise." 

Oh, one or *two* people... "I would be a poor servant if I hadn't begun searching long before there was a *dire* need —" 

"And?" 

And the *Queen*... is ready to end the bullshit. 

Or is she?

Treville gives her a measuring look of his own. 

"As much as I love time with dear Armand, Captain, it's time for *you* to take up your duties at the garrison again. Your concerns about the Spanish have been heard and heard *well*." 

By you. But — 

But. 

Without the Cardinal to drip poison in Louis's ear about more *actively* fertile Queens for him... 

Without anyone for Louis to rely on but Treville and whoever Treville hand-*picks*... 

Treville watches the Queen watch *him* think about what a brilliant position he's potentially put *her* in... and smiles. A real smile. "Two men, your Majesty. The Cardinal told me that both of them were fine, brilliant, and *capable* men... who were not afraid to look to people like you or myself for guidance." 

The Queen blinks — once. 

And then the corner of her mouth curls up in the very tiniest of smiles. 

"I hope to meet with them soon, Captain." 

*She* does, not her and Louis. Treville bows low. "It will be my pleasure to arrange it, Your Majesty. And... if there's anything else I might do for you..." 

She smiles just a little bit wider. "I'll be in touch. Until we meet again, Captain." 

Treville bows and flourishes. 

She laughs and departs, letting 'Armand' leap down to the tiles as she goes. 

Treville picks him up himself — 

Gets scent-marked *thoroughly* — 

Thank you *very* much, son — 

(My Daddy should fuck her.) 

Treville *coughs* — 

(What? Athos says that she needs to produce an heir —) 

I — 

(So does Porthos —) 

Son — 

(She will be fertile soon! Ripe!) 

Oh fuck. 

(My Daddy is virile and —) 

Is Louis calling? I think he's calling — 

(Louis is weak and pathetic and —) 

Son. Try not to commit treason *in the palace*. 

Aramis growls. 

If you keep this up, I won't bring you anymore, and then you won't be able to roll around on the Queen's soft, fragrant breasts — fuck.

Aramis purrs.


	16. About those 'projects'...

Lover. 

(Yes, amant?)

You're still not *here*, Treville says, stroking through Porthos's curls. He's once again sleeping on his side next to Treville with an arm wrapped tightly round Treville's waist, though tonight Aramis — in cat-form, of course — has decided to drape himself along their ankles. 

(I...) 

Yes? 

(There's a *slight* problem.) 

I'm listening.

(Etrigan and I are imprisoned —) 

You're *what* — why the bloody hell didn't you *call* me — 

(Because you can't *get* to us on this sphere, amant —) 

Bloody — I'm talking to the All-Mother. 

(We can get out of this *ourselves* —) 

Then why haven't you *before* now? 

(...) 

I'm waiting. 

(We were... waiting for just the right moment to launch our counter-attack?) 

You officially can't make fun of me — or yell at me! — for this shit anymore — wait. 

(Yes...?) 

Etrigan is the All-Mother's *child*. Why didn't *he* call Her?

(Well, he's embarrassed.) 

Treville... stares. 

(He *would* have called to Her should the myriad threats to our lives have become more... dire, shall we say?) 

Treville frowns. *Where* are you imprisoned?

(On another sphere, as I —) 

Yes, but — 

(We... there is some possibility...) 

Jason. 

Jason sighs. (Our gaolers have chosen to put us on a remarkably *secure* curio shelf, amant.) 

You're joking — wait. You told me *your* curio shelves were actually *torture* chambers. 

(Yes, well, the only torture here is boredom. Our gaolers simply aren't that creative, thankfully.) 

Why didn't you tell me you were *bored*? 

(... I thought you might figure out something was wrong.) 

Porthos yawns and rolls over onto his back. "Right, regular beatings for both of you," he says, and almost immediately starts snoring again. 

(Hm.) 

Let's hope he meant that. 

(Indeed.) 

All right, I'm calling Her —

(No, no, Etrigan was so embarrassed by you finding out about our situation that *he* finally called her. She's busily swallowing the entire fortress into the earth as we — ah, there we are. If you'll give me a moment?) 

Of course. 

Treville waits. 

Dozes, lightly — 

Pets Aramis when he pads back up Treville's body and curls on his chest — 

(Oh, *that's* better.) 

Vengeance is yours...? 

(Well, mostly the All-Mother's. But she did leave me a *few* enemies with whom to slake my blood-lust.) 

Lover. 

(Yes, yes, it's *never* slaked. But at least I can do *this* now,) he says, and the portal opens beside the bed. 

The Jason who steps through is naked, *actively* ablaze with eldritch fire, and looks positively exhausted. 

Treville scoots over to make room. 

Jason smiles wryly and holds up two fingers. 

Treville waits, and, after a few moments, the blaze dies down... and Jason is wearing silk. Actual silk, not glamour. Treville raises an eyebrow. 

(I badly need your bed, amant, but... your sons haven't shared blood with me. Best that they should touch silk, not skin.)

"Brrt?" 

Jason is cursed, son. The touch of his skin feels very, very wrong to people he's not bound to. *Especially* earth-mages, but you'd feel it strongly, as well. 

Aramis extends the claws on one paw — 

And Jason laughs softly and tickles between that paw's pads with a shadow. 

"Mee!"

"Rest now, mon grand. We'll discuss it in the morning," Jason says, and climbs in. 

Aramis looks to be plotting ways to get to exposed skin on Jason as soon as *possible* — 

(That is because I am, Daddy!) 

Morning, son. *Morning*. If only because we don't want to wake Porthos again.

(Oh — yes, Daddy,) Aramis says, and immediately steps all over Porthos's crotch before settling and purring. 

Treville smiles at his beautiful boys one more time... and then turns on his side to curl around Jason, nuzzling into his thick, wonderful, smoky-smelling hair until he can get to his neck — 

Biting him *firmly* — 

(Yours.) 

Welcome home.


	17. Time.

Breakfast is an unexpected feast — Aramis had alerted the staff of Jason's arrival — and it's... wonderful 

Absolutely wonderful. 

Jason glamours himself into the rich clothes of French gentry for the meal, but never stops *moving* like the most dangerous man on the planet. 

Aramis *continues* to make *Treville's* old clothes look... perfect. 

Porthos... 

His beautiful *Porthos* — is grinning at him over his glass of watered wine. "You like this. *Family* meals." 

"I..." Treville smiles ruefully and ducks his head. 

"Oh, admit it," Jason says, and slices off a piece of his roast beast. 

"For the longest time," Treville says, "the only family meals that truly meant *anything* to me were the meals I ate at one garrison or another, or on the march. I never knew anything like *this* could be... worthwhile." 

Porthos melts a bit — 

Jason grins at him. "We're getting *soft*." 

Aramis reaches under the table and *gropes* Treville — "No. No, this is not so." 

They laugh together. 

They laugh — together. 

And then Athos walks in, with his hat in his hands and a shy smile in his eyes, and — 

Treville can't. 

He stands, and leads Athos to the seat next to Porthos — 

"Sir — " 

"Sit." 

"I don't have to stay —" 

"Yeah, you do," Porthos says —

"Oh, yes!" And Aramis gives him his wine.

"I —" 

Treville cups both of Athos's shoulders. "We're glad to see you here, son. *Glad*. And grateful." 

Athos blushes. "I only thought... we'd ride in together —" 

"And we will, son. After we eat." 

The maids bring out a heaping plate for Athos — 

Wine of his own — 

Large amounts of cleavage — 

And Jason hums. "Have I mentioned, lately, how *much* I love the way you run your homes, amant?" 

"You may have done, you may have done..." 

Jason grins and turns to Athos. "It's good to see you again, Athos. I'll be spending more time —" 

"You'll be *living* here."

"I'll be —" 

"*Living*. *Here*." And Treville makes his eyes gleam at Jason from across the table. 

Jason licks his lips — 

Coughs — 

"Well. You'll certainly be seeing more of me —" 

Porthos takes Athos's hat and smacks Jason with it. 

"I." 

Porthos holds the hat threateningly. 

Aramis lifts his own hand — 

"I... hm." Jason turns back to Athos. "By which I mean, I'll be living here for the foreseeable future, so... yes." 

Athos huffs. 

Multiple times. 

And then he takes a breath and hums. "I'm quite happy to hear that, Jason. Your visits have always been entirely pleasant and illuminating." 

"Thank you *very* much, Athos —" 

"I..." And Athos turns his gaze on all of them. "Is this what I have to expect should *I* not fall in line? Bludgeoning? *Bullying*?" 

Treville takes a deep draught of his watered wine. "There's nothing to be concerned about, son." 

"No?" 

"Of course not. You're already *here*, after all." 

"Ah." 

Porthos snickers hard — 

Aramis grins ferociously and purrs — 

And Jason hums and continues to eat his meat, meat, and nothing but meat. 

(Mon amant knows how to take care of me...) 

That's *right*. Treville turns back to Athos with his eyebrow up. 

"Sir, I wasn't planning to move *in*." 

"Of course not, son. I haven't adopted you, yet," Treville says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. 

"*Sir* —" 

Treville grins. "I am a *covetous* man, Athos. And you are a beautiful, brilliant, powerful, skilled, creative..." Treville shakes his head and growls. "You're an *eminently* desirable young man, Athos. Let me make you mine." 

(Careful, amant...) And Jason had said that from behind a *very* subtle privacy-wall — 

And Athos is — staring at him, wide-eyed and hungry and — many other things, as well. Several of them not so good. 

"Son, no, you're right, I shouldn't be —" 

"No — don't," Athos says, leaning back and taking a deep breath — and then shuddering and leaning forward again. His eyes are narrow and *steely*. "Don't *hide* yourself from me, Uncle." 

Oh... "No?" 

"No. Don't — I'm not a child. And you were far more honest with me far more *often* when I *was* a child." 

Porthos grunts — 

But that's — "That's entirely true, son. And I want to bring that honesty back. I want to give you *everything*." 

"And I want —" *Athos* growls. "I've had... my ear to the ground. The Queen's status and position are more powerful, more *secure*, than they've been since the first year of their marriage." 

"Better than *that*, brother —" 

"*Yes*. I — and that's better for *you*, sir." 

"That it is, son," Treville says, and meets Athos's gaze. 

"And that... if you were to ask to formally adopt... two more sons..." And Athos's throat seems to lock. 

Treville wants to *soothe* — 

To *ease* — 

But. He also wants to be *Athos's* father. Not Olivier's. 

And he *thinks* he knows how to do that. "Athos... did you honestly wait for this *until* you felt the political situation would allow it?" 

Athos takes a *breath* — "Yes, sir." 

"Do you understand why that's problematic?" 

Athos frowns. "I understand why you might find it to be so —" 

Treville holds up a hand. "You withheld your desires from me. Your needs. Your *love*." 

Athos *grunts* — 

"You let me continue to believe that I should do the same." 

"Sir — I —" 

"Now, let me be clear: What I do or do *not* do isn't your responsibility. But what you allow your loved ones to believe about you — to *know* about you — *is* your responsibility, at least in part. Do you understand?" 

Athos flushes hard. "Yes, sir. I do. I —" 

"Shh. Keep waiting." 

Athos nods once. "Sir." 

"I understand that you meant to protect me — and our family — by keeping this information to yourself. I understand that you had only the *best* of intentions. I know you would never willingly cause pain or privation in your loved ones." 

"No, sir — please —" 

"Only this, son: It was wrong of me to *ever* hold back from you, to ever be *dishonest* with you, and I will be making amends for that for the rest of my *life*. And?" 

"It. It was wrong of me to do the same," Athos says, and looks down at his plate, which is all but untouched. 

It...

"I apologize, sir. I — I don't... please tell me how I may make amends." 

(Amant...) 

Yes. 

Treville stands and moves back behind Athos. This time, he cups the back of his neck with one hand and his shoulder with the other. 

He grips *firmly*. 

Athos *grunts*. "Sir..." 

"I always would've spoken with you about your concerns, son. We could've been honest with each other... and waited." 

"Yes, sir. Yes, sir, I apologize —" 

"Shh. Would you like for me to *give* you a chance to apologize, son? Formally and at length?" 

Athos is silent for long moments — 

And then he swallows with a hard click — 

And then he moans. "For. For everything I've done?" 

"Everything, son."

Athos pants. "And... I would be... punished?" 

"Just as much as you need. Just as much as we *both* need." 

"Oh — sir." 

"I need you to take your punishment, son." 

"Yes. Yes?" 

"I need you to take your punishment for *me*, son," Treville says, and pushes Athos's head down just. A. Little. 

Athos groans — "And. From you?" 

"Yes, son. Now. Do you want it?"

"Yes, sir," Athos says, without a moment's hesitation. 

"It's yours." 

"I — I'm not certain that I should have it," Athos says, quiet and hungry, so *hungry*. 

Treville pushes his head down further. "That's not for you to decide, son. Not anymore." 

Athos goes *loose*. 

"Good boy. Good *son*." 

"Thank you, sir..." 

"I smell more questions on you." 

"Just one," Athos says, and there's a smile in his voice — 

On his *face* — 

"Truly... *only* one." 

Treville rumbles and *pets* Athos. "Tell me. *Ask* me." 

"Will it ever be my responsibility to decide again, sir?" 

"Mm. We'll discuss that, son. When you need to." 

Athos breathes out even more tension. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." 

Treville rumbles more. "You're welcome, son. Are you ready to eat with the rest of our family?" 

Athos shivers. "Our."

"Our family, son. Now and forever. Because now that you're bound to me — and Porthos — you're *going* to share in our vitality. And that means you're going to share in *Jason's* vitality — and immortality." 

If anything, everyone else at the table gets even more silent. 

Except for Jason, who laughs evilly. "Your father's *first* pack said *no* to this when we gained the ability to make it available to them, gentlemen. We decided, between us, that should the opportunity arise once more... we would not take chances." 

"Precisely," Treville says, and gently lifts Athos's head. 

Porthos is blinking and staring — 

Athos is nodding slowly — 

Aramis is growling. "My Daddy! You have not bound *me*, yet!" 

Treville smiles. "I knew you wouldn't say no, little one. You're *my* cat." 

"I — this is so! Bind me!" 

Treville moves round the table, lifts Aramis's long hair, and bites the back of his neck — 

"Ai! Oh, yes! Oh, *yes*!" 

Treville licks and *sucks* at the powerful blood, mage-blood, *hot* blood — 

His, now. 

Bound and bound and *bound*, even as Aramis pants and claws at the table linens. 

Even as his musk... rises. 

Treville licks the wound to scar it, then kisses the scar. 

"Thank you, Daddy!" 

"You're very welcome, son," he says, and looks at Athos and Porthos. "Thoughts?" 

Porthos looks at him. "Has it ever occurred to you that, for a dog, you're really kind of *mean*?" 

"I'm a *very* bad-natured dog, son. So was your mother. I'm frankly stunned every day that we managed to produce *you*." 

Porthos goes back to staring at him. 

Athos raises an eyebrow at him. "Is it possible for us to be killed in *any* way?" 

"Yes. Sufficient force applied to sufficient sensitive areas in a short-enough time period would do it. That's actually how Jason and I met, son — he was dying in pieces in my turnip field after having one literal-hell of a battle with several very large demons." 

"It was terrifically embarrassing," Jason says, "but I wouldn't change it for the world." 

"We should've bloody guessed, brother," Porthos says. 

"*How*?" 

"We should've guessed *something* by the way Jason didn't move *all* the spheres to get here after that assassination attempt." 

"I — hell," Athos says, and drinks. 

Aramis moves to the chair closest to Jason. "Explain immortality." 

"That could... take... some time..." 

Aramis spreads his hands. "We have it." 

Treville hums. "So you're *not* coming in to the garrison with us today?" 

"I —" 

"No, we're *all* bloody going in to the garrison today, so we can glare at you, and — wait, do you have any *more* secrets from us?" And Porthos *looks* at him. 

Treville takes a deep, *easy* breath. "Not a one, boys. Not a single one." 

Athos studies him. "You're happy about that. Honestly — happy." 

Treville smiles. "We'll teach each other how that works, son. Over time."

end.


End file.
